Back Again? Siriusly?
by Manchester
Summary: The concept of the 'do-over' is used in, at the very least, hundreds of Harry Potter stories. Here's my own take, using a HP character that actually has a good reason for getting another chance to make things better.
1. Chapter 1

Much later, when Sirius Black remembered his past life, the very last memory of this existence was how _surprised_ his cousin Bellatrix had looked, just immediately after firing from her wand the stunner that knocked him into the Veil hidden deep within the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. It was almost as if that insane Death Eater had actually expected her wizard relative to perform some sort of clever dodging or blocking against the spell that would keep him from falling through the mysterious arch from which no-one had ever survived passing through the slightly fluttering curtains covering this curved structure.

Well, he hadn't. Putting up a successful magical defense against that stunner from dear Bella, anyway. As for the other thing…

Without the passing of even a fraction of a second right after seeing Bella disbelievingly watching him topple backwards, a blast of numerous other sensations then burst into Sirius' mind. He was lying on his side upon something hard that was totally soaked, while also twisting and lifting and rolling, all at the same time. A wave of salty water from the puddle he was sprawled in splashed into the wizard's open mouth, leaving him spluttering. This choking sound immediately became an agonized shriek, as his stomach exploded with pain.

Clutching at his middle, Sirius curled up in a fetal position, blinking away both his sudden tears and the patter of heavy rain also falling onto his face, as he dazedly stared upwards into the evil grin of somebody looming above, whom he'd never seen before in his entire life. That stranger in his hooded robe, standing over the prone wizard while easily keeping his balance, continued to aim his wand directly at his prisoner, while beginning to roar with laughter at the gleeful shout made by someone behind Sirius, "Gi' 'im another one, Sam! 'E needs a proper innerduction to Azkaban, don't yeh think?"

In the bow, Bernie Tooley finished off his cruel suggestion with a malevolent guffaw, while his mate enthusiastically pulled back his right boot in a prompt response to that proposal. From the looks of things, that cully laid out in the bottom of the Azkaban Prison ferry was going to lose a couple of teeth to Sam's savage kick in the next second or so. Not that anybody who mattered would care the slightest about this. Those wand-users sentenced to the harshest terms in the British wizarding world's most dreaded prison deserved whatever they got, and mere physical pain wasn't the worse that would eventually happen to them. Not when the Dementors came calling, sooner or later.

The very presence of those soul-sucking monsters drifting around Azkaban in their ghastly patrols had decades earlier resulted in serving at that prison being considered the most detested task possible by the entire Auror corps. No sane wizard wanted to be closer than necessary to those horrific creatures, so there was a distinct lack of volunteers whenever a guard position at that penitentiary opened up. As a consequence, the Ministry of Magic quickly became accustomed to assigning to Azkaban those who either couldn't or wouldn't get out of this disliked duty using any means whatsoever: the incompetents, failures, drunks, malcontents, bullies, and other genuinely unwanted members of the Auror Office.

Every one of those recently-appointed and very sullen wizarding warders before long transferred all their resentment and ill-tempers at having to work at bloody Azkaban towards the prisoners they were guarding, who couldn't die fast enough on their own to suit their keepers. And if that happened a little sooner than expected, during some sort of…encouragement to behave or else, well, as long as you didn't do this right in front of the whole Wizengamot, you stood a damned good chance of getting away with it.

All of the above flashed through Bernie's mind, as he casually glanced over Sam Hartman's bulky shoulder towards the stern of the boat. There, a blank-faced Frank Higgins was incuriously watching someone about to learn the proper rules of absolute obedience to any Azkaban staff member, all while continuing his usual job of steering their ferry with his wand through the pitching seas, strong winds, and blinding rain of today's half-gale. Satisfied that the boatman wouldn't cause any trouble as long as their latest prisoner got delivered to the prison dock in somewhat reasonable condition, which meant breathing on his own, but not actually capable of crawling off their arrived boat already a third of the way there, Bernie switched his gaze back to where Sam was about to happily rearrange somebody's face.

When the pointed toe of the worn boot came hurtling right at his head, Sirius Black finally had enough. There was no wand at hand, so that wizard instinctively used his only other means of defense. In a blurring transformation into his Animagus form, a human dressed in a thin prison robe shifted into a hundred pounds of furious canine, easily ducking under the foot about to crash into a black-furred animal skull. Lunging up off his stomach onto his paws, the enraged Grim opened his massive jaws as the dog instantly struck for the closest target certain to completely incapacitate his opponent.

His right leg helplessly swinging skywards after somehow missing its kick, Sam just as instinctively flinched away from that beast who'd managed to appear from out of thin air. The man desperately twisted his torso away from the dog going right for the man's groin. Sam was fast enough to put his left leg into a blocking position protecting that extremely valued part of his body, but it really didn't matter. The Grim himself shifted in his leap accompanied by a turn of his fanged muzzle, towards the now totally exposed inner right thigh, with its extremely vulnerable femoral artery.

The agonized scream that next occurred nearly burst the eardrums of the other two horrified men, as very sharp animal teeth sank full to their gumline into human flesh, with the snarling dog chewing deeper into the seized limb, using every bit of power in the canine's strong jaw muscles. Unthinkingly dropping his wand as he collapsed into the bottom of the boat, Sam started to pummel with both his fists against the top of the dog's head clamped onto his leg. The Grim only ignored this, as Sirius gave one last vicious bite and felt a gusher of hot, coppery-tasting liquid then spurt into his mouth.

As an aghast Bernie now heard Sam's screams turn into a wailing moan, the other prison guard continued to shakily point his wand downwards at the intermingled, writhing bodies before him. The Auror at the boat's bow was too terrified to get closer to the savage battle in the middle of the small vessel, and he couldn't fire off any spells capable of killing or harming that damn dog without hitting Sam! However, in the very next moment, the black beast let go of his defeated adversary, and it spun around to stand on all four feet, its lips savagely drawn back to show every jagged tooth dripping with blood, as it crouched lower, clearly about to leap directly at Bernie.

"REDUC-"

Right in the middle of the casting of this exploding curse, Sirius had jumped with all the power in his canine legs. Not forward at his foe, like an unintelligent animal that didn't know about wands, but as a thinking being who realized there was no chance of reaching the man ahead without being hit by whatever spell that was coming. Instead, the Grim hurled himself sideways, right over the side of the boat, to splash into the angry ocean. Coming up for air, the dog desperately paddled away from the boat, hoping he could get far away enough in the next couple of minutes to lose himself among the high waves and heavy rain created by the storm around them.

"-TO!"

Unable to stop from finishing the spell, much less move his wand to track and hit the escaping dog, Bernie's eyes widened with horror, as he saw exactly where his hex was going. Flashing over an unconscious, pale-faced Sam, the Reducto scored a direct hit on the right lower leg of Frank at the stern, who'd done nothing but stand stock-still and gape at the unexpected carnage of the last few seconds. Which further continued, as the boatman was promptly blasted off the small craft, leaving behind the gobbets of flesh that were the only things left of his severed leg. Also out cold even before he hit the water, Frank soon sank out of sight into the waves, his life ending without the ferryman knowing this at all. At least, until another operator of an intangible, mythical boat soon picked up Frank to take this glum human onto a last journey, as a favor for a fellow professional.

Not that Bernie noticed this, or even how the boat, which was no longer under anyone's control, had fallen off its course to start wallowing in the rough seas. Staggering forward to helplessly stare at his mate, who barely seemed to be breathing, Bernie pointed his wand at the massive leg wound still pumping out far too much blood, and he tried and failed to remember his Auror training in healing spells. This latest example of his ineptitude that had gotten him transferred to Azkaban in the first place did manage to keep the prison guard busy enough that he paid no attention to whatever was taking place behind him.

Sirius, on the other hand, was staring in disbelief at the gigantic wave at least three stories high and swiftly coming right at him. Taking the deepest breath possible, the dog ducked under the surface and swam forward with all his strength. A second later, everything turned dark around the Grim and icepicks stabbed into the animal's ears as the wave passed by overhead. Frantically struggling towards the dim light overhead, Sirius eventually came up again, gasping for air as he floated for a few seconds. A sudden thought then struck the man in the canine body, as he twisted around to peer through the storm.

When the wave hit the ferry broadside, the enormous wall of water instantly flipped the whole craft over, while at the same time throwing Bernie completely out of the boat, to then bury the stunned guard in the sea under the onrushing wave. Giving in completely to panic, Bernie clawed for the surface, only to swim into something that was both firm and soft. Clutching at this unknown object, the guard's flailing hands rubbed over a…face.

Instantly realizing he'd just grabbed hold of Sam's sinking body, Bernie started to scream, losing a big gulp of air until he managed to shut his mouth while once again trying to ascend. Beginning to pass out, Bernie still kicked and scrabbled as hard as he could, until he popped to the surface. Only to see the side of the overturned boat just a few inches away from his face, and at that same moment the vessel was shoved hard forward by another wave, which if it wasn't the size of the previous one, it was still strong enough to propel the whole ferry in an abrupt collision with Bernie's head. Letting out a last hopeless gurgle, the dazed guard slipped under the water and never came back up, leaving only a single person still alive of the four men that had been in the Azkaban ferry only a minute or so ago.

Floating among the waves while rising and falling in the water, Sirius warily eyed for a few moments the keel of the upside-down boat about a hundred feet away. The thick fur of the large dog was keeping bearable the chill of the ocean, so the Grim waited with predator patience for any of his former warders to climb onto that drifting platform. Eventually realizing he was likely the only survivor, Sirius held up his canine nose, and he sniffed deeply while paddling around in a circle. Yessss…there was the smell of growing plants in _that _direction. Staying motionless in the water until another big wave lifted him high, Sirius anxiously stared ahead, to have his heart leap in his chest at seeing a black line on the horizon. Giving a whuffling sigh of relief, the Grim started a steady swimming stroke towards his chosen destination.

A couple of hours later, it was still raining hard. This meant there was nobody around the small, deserted North Sea beach to observe how a large animal tiredly scrambled out onto the shore from the low surf created by this protected section of the coast. Taking a few steps further onwards over the shingle beach, the dog then gave itself a thorough shake, spraying water far and wide from its fur, just like any other Canus lupus familiaris. However, the self-possessed glance now done by this beast around its present surroundings was clearly intelligent. Satisfied that there were no witnesses in the vicinity, the Grim loped ahead along the beach, soon disappearing inland through the growing dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Few people understand how far a large dog can travel overland when it really wants to cover ground. At the break of dawn in a clearing sky that promised good weather for the coming day, the Grim was wearily crawling on his stomach into a bush thicket located at least thirty miles distant from the North Sea. Set in a small copse of trees surrounded by farmland, the place had looked perfect when Sirius broke off in his relentless lope lasting the entire night, except for a few minor delays along the way. Making a quick survey around the several acres of the grove soon satisfied Sirius that it was set in a position where the corners of four fields touched, with only an overgrown trail leading to this woodlot. That meant it would probably stay nice and private for a good, long doggy doze.

Continuing to squirm further into the bushes, Sirius followed the aged scent of a fox into a hollowed-out space in the center of the thicket. The branches overhead had grown up and out, while combining together to form a totally dry shelter. Absently turning around a couple of times, the Grim sniffed to check for any unwanted guests. There was the sharp whiff of a few mice which had hastily decamped several moments ago, and the faint odor of the previous tenant, the fox that hadn't been here for at least a week or two. Good enough. The dog curled himself up on the ground, tucked his tail under his nose, and instantly fell asleep.

If Sirius Black dreamed then, he never remembered it.

Much later, the dog blearily opened his eyes to stare ahead into a sunlit wall of greenery, next performing a massive yawn. That action halted in mid-gape, leaving the dog's slobbering tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, as the man in the Grim's body had all his memories of the previous twenty-four hours come rushing back: going to Harry's rescue at the Department of Mysteries, being knocked into the Veil, appearing on the Azkaban Prison ferry, and making his aquatic escape. Not to mention what had happened next, during the animal's cautious trot through a small beach town a mile up the road just after nightfall.

Shaking his furry head in complete bemusement, Sirius cautiously left his shelter, stopping in front of the bush to listen and smell with all the capabilities of his canine senses. Judging from the position of the sun overhead, it was some time past noon. No danger seemed near, so the dog went over to a small pool of water at the center of the copse, fed by a tiny stream from a trickling spring. Thirstily lapping up a few mouthfuls of liquid, the Grim then took himself off to the edge of the trees, to once again intently examine his surroundings, this time the fields peacefully lying around the grove.

At last satisfied that he was reasonably safe for the moment, the dog slipped back far enough into the treeline so that he could still watch for any approaching people, but no-one coming along could hope to see him. Concentrating, Sirius easily shifted back into his normal human body that was still clad in his prison robe. Glancing around, the last son of the Black family spotted a dry place under a nearby tree's canopy, which should shield him from any overhead observers, be they any wizard or witch riding upon their broom, or even a post owl. Striding over there, Sirius sat down, and for the first time in too long, he finally had a chance to just _think._

* * *

It was all the fault of that damn chicken.

Hours ago, Sirius had been sneaking through the beach town that he'd come across during his flight. Totally unfamiliar with the place, there was no point in trying to circle around without chancing getting discovered anyway. So, he'd balanced the risk of being noticed in his Grim form and just getting past the town as fast as possible in order to put as much distance between himself and the coast as he could. Fortunately, tonight's stormy weather forced everyone living there indoors, and the wizard also made sure to keep to the back streets and alleys. In one of the latter narrow passageways, Sirius' attention was diverted from circumspectly slinking down the lane, when one of the rubbish bins placed on the alley side had been giving off a truly enticing smell.

Feeling his stomach hungrily rumble, Sirius knew he had to eat something to maintain his strength. Pausing by the bin, the dog warily glanced around, and after reassuring himself there were no possible witnesses, a quick transformation back into a human had the lid off, a newspaper-wrapped lump snatched out of there, torn apart with eager fingers, and then dropped to the soaked ground. Right after the revealed whole chicken carcass that nonetheless had a good deal of cooked meat left on the bones had hit the alley floor, the wizard performed his body change again, creating an utterly natural scene of a stray dog scavenging its latest meal.

Carefully crunching the chicken bones in his massive jaws, Sirius enjoyed his dinner. It was a bit odd how fast the old habits had come back, living rough once more. Still, ever since he'd succeeded in transforming into his Animagus form as a student at Hogwarts, the wizard had always been grateful that being a dog meant he had a cast-iron stomach and a total lack of fastidiousness about anything he could devour. Finishing off every last scrap of food, the Grim licked his chops, while incuriously glancing at the torn sheets of damp newsprint littering the ground. In the very next moment, a reeling Sirius Black felt as if he'd just been struck by an immense bolt of lightning.

The date printed on the top of the newspaper he'd found was: _November 4, 1981_

Several minutes' frantic search later, through the row of rubbish bins in the alley, while trying to do it as quietly as possible and also praying to himself that for some strange Muggle reason, the residents of this town had a habit of collecting decades-old newspapers, Sirius staggered out from the alley as a dog again, standing on the street sidewalk with his four legs trembling in shock. Panting deeply, the man in his animal form now jerkily shook his head several times, trying to deny the utterly impossible. A gleam of light seen out of the corner of his eye made Sirius look over to notice a lit streetlamp in front of a small shop brightly illuminating that spot - and also the large, reflective shop front window.

Dashing over there, Sirius completely forgot how dangerous this was, when he skidded to a stop under the streetlamp and promptly transformed himself in full view, where anyone at all could see him turn from a dog into a human. The wizard didn't care, not when he was staring with absolute disbelief at what was presently shown to him in the shop window, the reflected image of a person who at this exact moment looked to be a worn-out but still hale and hearty young chap in his early twenties, standing there somewhat wild-eyed. Instead of what should have been actually revealed in his place, a haggard wreck of a mid-thirties man looking years older, his lined face and thin body never having completely recovered from being falsely imprisoned in Azkaban.

Sirius didn't know how long he stood there in the rain, gaping at his youthful reflection. Only when a car soon came along the wet street, its headlights approaching nearer, did the wizard recover a bit from his daze to hastily step from out under the overhead illumination and change back into a Grim the instant he was completely out of sight in the shadows. Scuttling into the shop doorway, Sirius pressed his canine body against the front door, crouching down and trying to be as inconspicuous as a midnight-black, eight-stone dog could possibly be. When the car lights reached his position, Sirius firmly squeezed his eyes shut, as if this would actually help.

After next listening for a few moments to the car passing down the street without that vehicle's driver doing anything to show he'd been seen, such as swerving or braking, Sirius then sprinted away besides the road, doing his best to stay in the dark along the way. Soon enough, he reached the town limits into the country, jumping over a wire fence in a single effortless bound, to run through the field he'd entered, without slacking the least in his speedy run. The dog fiercely concentrated on his physical efforts, blocking out from his mind whatever questions or conjectures he might have now. When he found a safe place to change into a human once more, _then_ he'd start thinking things over.

* * *

Sitting against his tree in the copse where he'd taken shelter, Sirius slowly lifted his hands in wonder, holding them in front of his face and turning these over, examining by daylight the firm flesh that no longer had the raised tendons caused by age in the backs of his hands. Most telling of all, the scarred knuckles at both ends of his arms weren't just healed, they were unblemished. Sirius wasn't sure exactly when in his sentence at Azkaban it'd happened, the short time he'd gone completely insane. Maybe during his first year, when in a frenzy the wizard had repeatedly hammered with his clenched fists against the stone walls of his cell, tearing off skin and muscle there down to the bone. He might've also broken a knuckle or two; Merlin knew, it'd hurt enough for the next few months when he'd healed up without any care or concern provided by his jailers.

The Veil. It _had_ to be. Nothing else explained how he'd evidently gone back close to fifteen years in time, from November 1981 to June 1996, which had been the date when he'd fallen through the damned thing. But…this was impossible! The mysterious object in the Department of Mysteries wasn't a Time-Turner or anything like that! Instead, it was something used to execute wizarding criminals who'd committed such heinous offenses that even Azkaban wouldn't do to properly punish those transgressors.

Um… Sirius had to pause in his whirling thoughts, as a cold inner voice now reminded himself, that the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic only _supposed_ that being put through the Veil was a certain death sentence. After all, since nobody had ever come back from beyond those eerie curtains to then inform anyone to the contrary, it was easy enough to assume being sent through the Veil killed you.

The man under the tree had to blink to himself at where his mind promptly traveled concerning this: if, as just proven in his own case, taking a trip through that sinister structure sent you back in time, did that mean everyone _else_ who'd already made this one-way voyage through the Veil had also traveled in time?

An icy mental influence again spoke in Sirius' head to dispute this, pointing out with calm logic that according to the Ministry's records, literally dozens of captured Dark Lords and equally malignant wizards and witches had been put through the Veil. However, none of these lawbreakers had ever shown up again earlier in time to commit even more crimes in Britain's wizarding world.

So, that suggested either Sirius was totally unique in what had just happened to him, or more likely, he hadn't traveled into _the_ past. Not to the whole former history of the human race; rather he was in _a_ past or _his_ past, the previous existence of one of the four Hogwarts Marauders. There was even the possibility of something else entirely different, given that as well as Sirius could remember of events nearly two decades before when he hadn't been at his best, this wizard's original trip to Azkaban on the ferry didn't include a savage beating by the prison guards escorting him. _That_ had come later for Sirius Black.

Slowly lifting a hand to rub at his unlined forehead, this named wizard shivered slightly to himself at experiencing again the other unforeseen consequence of his bizarre incident that had evidently landed him in the past. It was really unnerving how swift and lucid his thoughts were now, with all the assessment, analysis, and deliberation flashing into existence like quicksilver. But then, just as his current body, Sirius' mind was once more what it was before he'd been flung into Azkaban…and the Dementors visited him.

A cold ire began to develop inside Sirius. It wasn't enough that he'd physically suffered in prison, oh, no. Those soul-sucking monsters tormenting him had also permanently affected his mind during all those lost years. Even though he'd never been able to realize this, being too close to the problem and leaving Sirius with a clouded intellect and wits. Yet…because of traveling to the past, it hadn't yet happened, and probably never would do so anyway. He still had the awful memories of being repeatedly forced to relieve every horrible moment of his life, but right now, his brain had never undergone the mental tortures performed by those ever-damned creatures. He was thinking better and more clearly than he'd done in decades, just as he should've done in a more perfect world.

"A more perfect world…" Reciting out loud those words to himself made Sirius momentarily revert to his old habits in Azkaban, when sheer rage over the total unfairness of it all was often the only thing keeping the wizard from going even more insane or taking his own life. Leaping furiously to his feet to stand before the tree, his body shaking in wrath and fists angrily clenched, Lord Black snarled to the world at large, "If this is so bloody perfect, why wasn't I sent back even _earlier?_ All it would've taken was a few more weeks! I could've kept James and Lily alive, protecting them and Harry! Never suspecting Remus or opened my mouth to Peter the rat where…where my family was!"

A choking sob unexpectedly burst from Sirius' lips, interrupting his denunciation, as the man continued to gasp while tears began rolling down his cheeks. Sinking to his knees, Sirius then fell over to his side on the ground, wrapping his arms around himself, as for the first time ever, the wizard finally let loose all his grief and guilt with a moaning shriek of pure anguish over how he'd failed all those he'd loved. For the next several minutes, the grove watched over a man mourning the loss of his family.

Eventually it had to end, and this did so in constant sniffling absently made by Sirius blankly staring forward, along the grassy floor of the copse. The side of his head was still pressed against the ground, where a damp spot was growing there from his tears and snot. Vaguely becoming aware of this, Sirius also mentally noticed the patiently-awaiting presence of what he thought of as his regained good sense that the Dementors hadn't yet degraded.

This manifestation seemed to perk up at last being recognized, and a plan was promptly laid out, in that even though it would certainly be extremely difficult and require cunning, guile, and pure sneakiness, it would end up with Sirius achieving his goal of once again returning to the Veil in the Department of Mysteries and hurling himself into this. Producing a possible chance of indeed going back further in time to defeat Voldemort, save the Potters, and really stick it to everyone who'd screwed him over. Or not.

Despite himself, an actual bark of harsh laughter came from the wizard's mouth over this latest example of…_black _humor from what could be nothing else but his Slytherin self which Sirius had resolutely denied his whole life. Feeling a genuine spark of newborn determination over whatever would next occur, Sirius sardonically announced out loud, "If that was indeed the voice of reason, then I have to say, sanity isn't all it's cracked up to be."


	3. Chapter 3

Very well, he was fifteen years in the past.

So what was he going to do about it?

Most decidedly _not_ carrying out that absurd plan suggested a few moments before by a particularly sarcastic portion of his personality, in fearlessly hurling himself once more through the Veil at the Department of Mysteries, all in a perfect Gryffindor attempt to save the day by going back even further in time to rescue everyone. Sirius shook his head in wry acknowledgment over accepting this, causing drops of water to spray from his damp hair. Brushing this back with his fingers after he finished washing his face in the tiny pool at the center of the copse, the wizard rose to his knees, and he returned to his seat under the tree.

Leaning back against the woody trunk, Sirius contemplated his options. He'd escaped from Azkaban (_again_), only much more earlier than before, which meant he was in better physical and mental shape than the last time. On the other hand, the man falsely accused of betraying James and Lily Potter was now in far greater trouble in this latest go-around, incredible as that might seem. Trouble that surely had in it somewhere the words: 'kill on sight.'

Those damn prison guards.

A brooding Sirius was presently sure of only one thing, that the Aurors had finally awoken to the fact the Azkaban ferry was missing, along with several of their personnel and an escorted prisoner. Of course, the most optimistic outcome for Sirius was that the Ministry of Magic would merely decide a terrible tragedy had occurred, with their boat and its passengers being lost at sea. Very sad, send a note of consolation to the guards' families regretting the inability to hold any funerals and assure them their death benefits would be paid up on the dot. As for what's-his-name, the felon, that cowardly cur had indisputably gotten what was coming to him in a true example of cosmic justice, blah, blah, blah.

Sirius genuinely doubted he would be _that_ lucky. More likely, a magical search by the Azkaban staff had the possibility of either finding the guards' bodies, or even a survivor. Just because Sirius hadn't seen anybody alive there in the ocean before swimming away, this didn't necessary mean his prison escort were all dead. Still, if the Aurors' search for their fellow guards was totally unsuccessful, there still remained the likelihood of them locating the more easily-found overturned ferry, and then determining through some kind of spell there had been a life-or-death struggle aboard this boat. From there, it would be an easy leap to a conclusion that one Sirius Black, this utter villain, was responsible for everything, and he deserved to be shown absolutely no mercy if that bastard was still alive and ever again got captured by the Auror corps.

Frankly, this specific wizard sitting under the tree at this point possessed a total lack of sympathy or guilt over the events of just a day ago on the North Sea. Twelve horrible years of Azkaban and that place's thugs with a badge meant Sirius would never lose the slightest bit of sleep concerning those sods at the boat who'd just been about to kick in his head. Bugger 'em all, and good riddance.

However, it came back to the fact that Sirius now had even bigger problems while on the loose once again. Assuming that the Ministry ever admitted to the Daily Prophet or any other wizarding newspaper what happened (or at least what they _thought_ happened) on the Azkaban ferry, it completely put paid to any of this wizard's plans on proving his innocence about betraying the Potters to Voldemort. If things had gone better, the quickest way to do that would have been another overland journey in his Grim form to the Weasley family house known as the Burrow. There, Sirius would have found Peter Pettigrew, captured that traitor to the Marauders, forced him to turn back from a rat into his human self again, and then extracted a confession from Wormtail among as many witnesses as possible about everything.

Unfortunately, at that moment, Sirius' happy thoughts were interrupted by an abruptly-realized objection to all this. Namely, the minor detail that he wasn't sure exactly _when_ Peter had shown up at the Burrow. It was true that Percy Weasley had taken Scabbers the rat, as the boy had named his familiar, to Hogwarts when this red-haired middle child started his first year at the magical castle. Later on, that future Ministry of Magic employee had given his pet rodent to his younger brother Ronald. The only problem about this was that Percy was now, as best as Sirius could recollect, perhaps five or six years old. So, this at-present little boy wouldn't be starting his magical education for another half-decade, which was the only specific date Sirius knew where to unerringly find Peter. If he'd ever been told or knew otherwise, Sirius couldn't remember it, which meant there was no possible way he could hang around the Burrow, waiting however long it took for Wormtail to finally arrive there looking for shelter.

In the copse, a suddenly-despondent wizard slumped back against the tree, as a cold apprehension overcame Sirius. This man just realized that he had absolutely _no_ friends or allies right now. Unlike the last time, Remus Lupin couldn't be persuaded to aid Sirius, not when there was currently no direct evidence whatsoever of Peter's survival, such as Wormtail's appearance shown in a photograph displayed in an issue of the Daily Prophet, which had occurred much later in that other timeline. Instead, the enraged werewolf mourning his dead friends would most likely fire off an Avdra Kedavra the very instant he ever laid eyes again upon Padfoot, even before Sirius could open his mouth to explain everything. Not that Remus would bother to listen to such foolishness as time travel or Peter's treachery from somebody who'd further murdered even more people while being transported to a fully-deserved Azkaban cell.

Huddling against the tree, Sirius sank even deeper into sheer despondency. His mood wasn't improved the least by shortly recognizing there _was_ one particular wizard, who for his own reasons, might be willing to assist the last son of the Black family. Regrettably, Sirius in no way trusted Albus Dumbledore anymore.

Not a single word. Not in the few days after his arrest, nor in the next twelve years at Azkaban. Dumbledore, the Supreme Mugwump, the head of the Wizengamot, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Leader of the Light, had never even bothered to contact Sirius Black at all. A totally innocent man had spent over a decade in hell, which could have been easily avoided with a single minute's visit by the most powerful wizard in Britain seeking to discover the truth of what really happened at Godric's Hollow. If anybody else had tried to bring up the point that Dumbledore, just like everyone else in the wizarding world, had been wholly convinced of Sirius' guilt, the imprisoned man himself, in between bouts of being visited by the Dementors, would have savagely replied that there was the minor detail of both of these people having been members of the group known as the Order of the Phoenix. Which in turn should have produced an end result that amazingly never happened also.

Even the most senile, dim-witted, forgetful leader of any other organization, who'd just learned one of their number had been so utterly treacherous to help murder his friends, would undoubtedly arrange as quickly as possible an interview with that captured miscreant, IF ONLY TO FIND OUT WHAT ELSE HE'D DONE!

But, no. A certain twinkly-eyed sod obsessed with his schemes had probably done nothing but pop a lemon drop into his mouth, while sadly reflecting about the loss of yet another wizard to the dark side. *Ah, well, at least the dear lad mixing potions in the Hogwarts dungeons below had once more returned to the light, so let's celebrate this with a last scrumptious candy. Mmmm! Delicious! Now then, we shouldn't spoil the day further by asking Snape, such a fine chap that man is despite all those years as a Death Eater, if he ever had the slightest suspicion or inkling during that time if Sirius Black was ever one of Riddle's followers. Yes, yes, let sleeping dogs lie. Now, before getting back to work, perhaps one more lemon drop? Ah, Albus, you do owe yourself a minor indulgence…*

Back in the grove, Sirius finally became aware of how fiercely he was grinding his teeth. Relaxing his tense jaw muscles a bit, before a molar actually imploded, the furious man glared outwards at the peaceful fields before him, breathing hard. His rage had once again returned to Sirius, over all the injustices done to him that had been brushed off by Dumbledore years before, who'd benignly declared that there'd been good reasons for it all which must still be kept secret, back when the haggard wizard had demanded some kind of explanation from the older man. In all the confusion of Sirius' life after the first escape from Azkaban, he'd never been able to sufficiently pin down Dumbledore to have his questions fully answered to his satisfaction.

Well, it didn't matter now. Sirius knew better than to go anywhere near that sugar-crazed berk at this time, not when the Head of the Ancient House of Black was in the perfectly vile mood to cast the most powerful exploding hex he could manage at both that doddering wizard and his greasy-haired pet. Right! To hell with those two, and everyone else! He could do just fine entirely on his own! Let's see, the first thing to do is…

Um…

How about…?

It was at that point when a certain part of Sirius' mind that had been patiently waiting for the temper tantrum to be over and done with now offered its own quiet suggestion, which produced an immediate effect. Sitting up straight with a jerk, Sirius gazed off with absolute incredulity into the distance, not really believing the idea that had just popped into his head. This man's features worked, as various expressions quickly flashed over his face, which included surprise, disgust, loathing, and finally, reluctant acceptance intermixed with actual doubt. The fact is, he simply wasn't sure if this would indeed work.

Nevertheless, as Sirius Black continued to glumly stare ahead, this wizard took a deep breath, and then he loudly called:

"_Kreacher!"_


	4. Chapter 4

"What does bad son of Black family want?" demanded the house elf in a very annoyed voice, right after this diminutive being had appeared in front of Sirius with the usual sharp _crack!_ sound.

The wizard didn't answer right away, given that Sirius was staring in utter disbelief at Kreacher glowering back at him. One reason for the man's current astonishment at his successful summoning of the family servitor was the fact that he'd been expecting to completely fail in this, due to still being a fugitive on the run from the Aurors. Whenever that magical community's law enforcement personnel arrested a wizard or witch, part of the process automatically included a quick wand casting to prevent the new prisoner from calling upon their house elf, in order to prevent a hasty escape attempt. This preventive measure would last for as long as the inmate was in the custody of the Ministry of Magic, as Sirius well knew from bitter experience. Thinking it over, this wizard wasn't really sure if he'd managed to summon Kreacher this time because he'd gotten away before landing on that prison island. Or, possibly because he'd gone back in time and as a result the spell formerly preventing the house elf from coming at his command had been destroyed or altered. If Sirius wanted to think about it further, he probably could come up with a few more likely explanations.

Not that it mattered at his moment, since Sirius had something else that was fully occupying his entire attention instead. Continuing to gape at the irritated house elf, the wizard numbly realized that here was again genuine proof he was in the past. From his own viewpoint, Sirius had last encountered Kreacher just a couple of days ago, before this man's frantic dash to the Department of Mysteries after learning Harry had placed himself in extreme danger there from invading Death Eaters. Then, the Black house elf reluctantly serving his latest master at 12 Grimmauld Place looked just like this little supernatural being had seemed, during all of Sirius' stay at that hated residence ever since he'd rejoined the Order of the Phoenix. Kreacher had been a shriveled, twisted, emaciated wreck of a house elf, with one foot in the grave.

Now, though, standing inside the copse while shifting impatiently under Sirius' incredulous gaze, a healthy Kreacher grumpily eyed the staggered wizard. The elderly yet quite hale house elf waited for young master to say something, anything at all, just so that he could get it over with, obeying whatever orders from bad son as quickly as possible and then heading back to his beloved mistress. Who would then certainly hear all about it from Kreacher. Yes, yes, that ungrateful child over there would soon in turn be given a proper scolding from his mother for all of his disrespectful acts towards the wizarding family that Kreacher had faithfully served for centuries. Brightening up slightly at this pleasing possibility, Kreacher snottily asserted to Sirius, "Bad son doesn't deserve to be a Black! Not like Master Regulus! Mistress wishes bad son had died instead of him!"

A wave of immense fury now burst into Sirius' mind, as Kreacher once again demonstrated the reason why the man had always hated and loathed the house elf that every time took the side of his despised mother and her youngest son. Opening his mouth to start scathingly curse the self-righteous house elf, Sirius instead felt what seemed like nothing but a spear of pure ice penetrate the fiery rage inside his head. It was a detached, emotionless thought, apparently from out of nowhere:

*He was in prison, too.*

Becoming totally stock-still, his mouth hanging open but with no sound coming from this, Sirius could do nothing but think about what had just entered his mind. A third of the way through Sirius' twelve years in Azkaban, his mother Walburga Black had died, leaving behind a lost and forgotten Kreacher, who'd been forced by his house elf bond with the Black family to stay alone in the decaying Grimmauld Place house, save for an animated wall painting of his mistress. Unable to ever leave or serve anybody else, Kreacher had gradually wasted away, both in body and mind, surviving for eight straight years only due to his innate magic. All while this little mannikin's sole company was the toxic personality of Mrs. Black in her painting, who could give any Dementor a decent run for their money in creating a truly poisonous atmosphere for everyone else in their vicinity.

In the grove, Kreacher frowned at where bad son was blankly staring off into the distance over the tiny being's head. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go, and the house elf didn't particularly care for unexpected surprises or changes, preferring instead the comfort of predictable routine. Young master should shout at Kreacher, and Kreacher should be scornful of young master, while obeying orders. Feeling a sudden urge to start things working again in their proper direction, Kreacher tried to attract young master's attention by loudly repeating his first question after being summoned here: "What does bad son _want?_"

After an endless moment, Sirius slowly lowered his gaze to Kreacher, who then unthinkingly shivered at seeing the abrupt blaze of incalculable emotions light up young master's eyes. Nevertheless, Sirius' voice was utterly even and calm as he answered the suddenly-fearful house elf in such a way that Kreacher had never before considered possible.

"I want what nobody can give me. I want my family back."

Outside the grove, it was totally calm, where the farm fields were basking in the sun shining brightly without even the mildest breeze blowing. Yet in the middle of the copse, the air itself began to shift and move, lifting up from the ground the lightest scraps of leaves and other plant material. As the gentle gusts began to increase around his body, Sirius ignored the faint brush of wind that began to toss his long hair, solely preoccupied by putting his thoughts into words.

"I want James and Lily and Remus, and even Peter, before he turned traitor."

The branches of the trees around the absorbed man and the astonished house elf began to shiver and bend, sweeping the dangling leaves around and creating a waft of air that carried the scent of greenery throughout the copse.

"I want the Marauders and mischief and merriment."

As the limbs of the trees throughout the small forest increased in their flailing, the trunks began to produce creaking and groaning sounds as they bent in turn.

"I want midnight runs with Prongs and Moony through the Forbidden Forest."

The whooshing of the air rushing around Sirius changed into a deeper roar, as he still continued to speak over the blowing noise.

"I want to spoil Harry and all those other children of my friends, who should have come to be in a much better world, but they never even had the chance for this."

The ground under Kreacher's feet began to tremble, as he stared in sheer amazement at such an exhibition of emotion-created wandless magic that the house elf had never before witnessed in his entire, centuries-long existence.

"I want…TO BE A BLACK!"

After Sirius had screamed out those last words in an immense bellow of grief and rage and implacable determination, everything stopped. All that had been in motion, every last molecule of air and wood and leaf and all else, now froze in a single instant, leaving the whole copse immobile, while the wizard there made an unyielding vow upon his very magic:

"I will bring down low all my enemies, and lift up my worthy kin and comrades. I will offer hope to the despairing, loyalty to the brave, truth to the deserving, and a bright future for those yet to be born. I will change things for the better! All this, I swear on my honor, my word, and my name of Sirius Black!"

His bulbous eyes shining as bright as stars, Kreacher fell to his knees before the wizard, bowing his head as the little house elf held up his hands, palms flattened, as the Black family servitor cried out in ecstasy, "_Master!"_

Startled from his grim mood, Sirius looked down at the house elf, and without thinking about this, the wizard reached out himself to place his own hands, palms down, upon Kreacher's hands. In the very next instant, pure white light glowed around the two beings, until right after this, the light just as abruptly faded away.

His eyes rolling back in their sockets, Sirius Black collapsed to the forest ground, completely unconscious.


	5. Chapter 5

Over his lifetime, Sirius Black had far worse experiences than this while once more regaining consciousness. Among these occurrences were waking up every so often right in the middle of a nightmarish visit by one of the Dementors guarding Azkaban. Which meant, at this specific moment, when he blearily opened his eyes to stare directly into the gaze of a most unlovely countenance peering down at him from a distance of only a few inches, the wizard simply grimaced in his deep disgust, and waved away the house elf standing next to him. Straightening from his close examination of Sirius, Kreacher backed up a few steps while the human then stiffly sat up from where he'd been lying supine on the floor of the small grove among the farmlands which both beings were presently occupying.

Hastily clapping both hands against the side of his throbbing head, Sirius demanded with a pained groan, "Kreacher, what'd you _do_ to me?"

"Kreacher had made young sir into Master of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," obediently answered the wizened, centuries-old elf.

Sirius was feeling too fragile to pay all that much attention to what he'd just been told. Sincerely believing if he incautiously tilted his head into any direction at all, his brain (which at present felt as it'd been recently inflated to triple its previous size) would promptly slosh itself out of his skull, Sirius instead absently growled, "You little idiot, I'm _already_ the Head of the House of Black!"

"Young sir did not hear rightly," corrected Kreacher in a very tolerant tone much different than his usual hostile conversations with Sirius. Going on with actual respect in his voice, the house elf tried again. "Young sir is still Head of House, but is called that only for wizards and witches ruling House after previous Head of House. Now, young sir is something much, much rarer: _Master_ of House."

Nervously sensing that somehow his existence had just gotten even more complicated, Sirius forgot his aching head long enough to risk a wary question: "What, exactly, does that mean?"

"Kreacher has given all his magic to young sir."

* * *

A couple of minutes later, Sirius continued to incredulously eye the house elf patiently standing within arm's reach of the wizard in his own position of leaning back against the base of a handy tree. Repeating out loud what he'd just learned, the wizard inquired, "So, it's more like sharing what you have instead of actually owning your magic, Kreacher, and I can't tell anybody at all about it?"

The magical creature deferentially nodded, only to then blink in surprise at the exasperated "_Why?_" this at once produced from his master. Taking a few moments to judge if he was supposed to answer this as fully as possible, and helped along by Sirius' insistent expression, Kreacher tried his best to explain.

"Kreacher is house elf, master. Kreacher uses his magic for House of Black, and always has. But, Kreacher also takes magic from House of Black too, from all Blacks big and little over whole lives. When house elf watches wizard or witch of house using every bit of magic to swear loyalty to house, entire loyalty and magic of house elf is theirs, if house elf decides this right and proper. Is house elf's choice, cannot be demanded by wizard or witch, even if they guess. Magic will not let house elf speak of this to who does not have full loyalty, nor can wizard or witch speak to any but house elf who gave them loyalty."

Mulling this over, a frowning Sirius remarked, "Hold on! I've heard other house elves call their owners master or mistress, but those same people never showed any signs of your kind of magic, Kreacher."

The little mannikin determinedly shook his lined and wrinkled face, telling the attentive wizard, "Ordinary title of master does not mean Master of House, young sir. House elf serving house from birth to death may never make master or mistress this." Seeing Sirius open his mouth in the beginning of an obvious question, Kreacher apologetically added, "Kreacher is sorry, master, but he cannot tell him which other house elves have done this. That is their houses' secret."

Sirius had been actually about to mention a certain elf named Dobby and his obsessive loyalty to Harry Potter. Though, a hasty reminder to himself that in this timeline, it'd be at least another fifteen years or so before those two members of the wizarding world finally encountered each other. There was also the fact that an entirely different question had just come to mind, causing the recently established Master of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to thoughtfully regard his family's house elf, who was calmly looking back at him.

"Kreacher," began a wondering Sirius, "has any _other_ Black ever been made Master of House by our house elves?"

Drawing himself up in evident pride, the diminutive being complacently replied, "Kreacher did it before, during the Goblin Rebellion in 1472. Head of House of Black then was Matthew Black, who is young sir's illustrious ancestor."

Sirius's lower jaw dropped open, as he stared at the pleased house elf. The wizard at last blurted out, "Wha- You mean 'Daft Mattie'? The chap I read about in our family book, who was described as having a sense of humor more twisty than a corkscrew caught up in a tornado? _Him?_"

A quite reproachful expression now passed over Kreacher's ugly features, followed by an equally disapproving sniff, "Young sir should not speak so of his distinguished forebear."

The present heir of the Black family promptly snarled his rejoinder towards the stubborn house elf: "That insane bloke ended the big battle around then before it even got started, which would've settling things for once and all between the wizards and goblins, just by strolling through both sides' lines while carrying upon his back the biggest possible sack filled right to the brim with gold coins!"

A nostalgic gleam abruptly appeared in Kreacher's rheumy eyes, showing him to be in an actual good mood as he reminisced about a desperate plan created centuries ago, "It was Kreacher's idea to put the little hole in the bottom of the sack."

"Oh," hollowly came from Sirius, at that point looking as if he'd just taken a speedy Bludger in the back of his skull. Continuing to gape at a smug house elf, the wizard then disbelievingly said, "So, it was really true, what I read in the family book? That both wizards and goblins ganged up together to follow after my many-times-grandfather to pick up what was dribbling out of the sack? And after, when Daft Mattie dumped the now half-empty bag of gold onto the table in the conference tent, and reminded both sides' leaders that if every goblin was dead, they couldn't take care of the wizard's money, or that if the wizards got massacred, it'd be rather difficult to get corpses to pay their due bills?"

"Nobody argue too much about signing peace treaty," cheerfully acknowledged somebody who'd clearly been an eyewitness to a past event that had plainly not gone as historically reported. Kreacher then added in his perfect deadpan, "Master Matthew, he only have to pretend to depart two, three times with his sack. Once treaty filled out, he leave sack behind, show everyone in armies the paper, hurrah, proclaimed war was over, hurrah, both sides won, hurrah, now everybody go home, make babies and lots of money. _Very_ big cheer, battlefield emptied right away, so nobody see later how both sides' leaders waddle out of conference tent, every pocket stuffed with gold."

For the next minute or so, the ancient house elf placidly watched his master once more lying on his back in the farm grove, howling with laughter as Sirius Black clutched at his aching ribs. At last sitting up again, the wizard brushed away several tears of mirth running down his features and he opened his mouth in preparation to speak. However, in the next instant, Sirius's lips snapped shut, and he began to intently gaze off into the distance over Kreacher's head.

The little magical being himself recognized that his owner was right now in the middle of some sort of inspiration or revelation. As Kreacher watched a deeply gleeful expression of pure, wicked mischief suddenly appear upon Sirius's face, the house elf felt his own spirits soar as high as the sky in reaction to this.

Oh, yes. Oh, _yes._

It'd been literally hundreds of years, but he'd seen that exact same look before, just after Master Matthew had sworn to do whatever was necessary to save his family house from utter destruction during the coming war between the wizards and goblins. That avowal had impressed Kreacher enough so that a shaken wizard several minutes later was informed he was no longer simply the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but rather, the Master of the House.

Pondering this, Matthew Black soon started plotting with his house elf, whose magic they now shared, with these powers soon eventually helping in disengaging the wizarding world and the Goblin Nation from mutual genocide. True, the underhanded scheme successfully accomplished by the House of Black would result in it being too embarrassing for either side to ever publicly recognize this, but at least the succeeding generations of Blacks would always have the chance for a good laugh, when they learned about what a wizard and a house elf could do while working together.

Not to mention encouraging these same family members in something to strive for throughout their whole lives, to accomplish a deed or exploit that would equal or even surpass their ancestor's incredible feat of pranking at the same time in a beneficial manner the two most powerful magical societies of Great Britain.

Kreacher's increasingly thrilled mood was soon diverted, by a purring command from his master, presently known throughout wizarding England as Sirius Orion Black, traitor, murderer, fugitive, and thankfully dead and drowned:

"Kreacher, let's go pay a visit to my family. I'm totally positive they'll each and every one of them be delighted at me dropping in on them by surprise."


	6. Chapter 6

Two figures, one big and one small, popped into existence through the wards, landing inside the Main Hall of the Black Manor, the home for centuries of that ancient magical dynasty. Knowing he had only seconds in which to act, Sirius immediately sliced upon the palm of his upraised hand with a very special bronze knife as old as the Pharaohs, one of the family's heirlooms which had earlier been removed by Kreacher from the manor's private vaults holding the most precious Black family treasures.

As his life's fluid welled up in his cupped hand, Sirius intoned over the sudden dizziness from the magic surging inside his head, "By what runs in my veins, I command a Summoning of the Blood! As proof of my authority as Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, let all my closest living kin past the age of childhood feel their chieftain's decree, and then have no rest nor relief of any kind until they arrive to where their lord is awaiting them!"

Over the abrupt _pop!_ of Kreacher's disapparation from the wizard's side, Sirius turned over his gashed hand and then flicked hard his wrist, sending a spray of bright blood towards the tiled floor of Black Manor. However, instead of the normal spattering of liquid there that might have been expected, every single red droplet puffed into a pale scarlet vapor when these struck the floor, to next totally dissipate in the air. The bronze knife Sirius was still gripping in his other hand also vanished at once, indicating the magic he'd just cast had been successfully carried out, with the employed heirloom returning itself to the Black family vaults hidden deep underneath the manor, now that its intended purpose had come to an end.

Holding his still-bleeding hand up again, Sirius absently muttered under his breath, "Episkey!" His small wound instantly healing, the wizard dropped his hand back down at his side, and with an actual nefarious glint beginning to grow in his eye, a man with two escapes from Azkaban under his belt waited for his family to join him. Whether they wanted to or not.

* * *

Making good progress for an eighty-year-old man, Arcturus Black quickly stumped down the hall corridor of Black Manor from his private apartments, instinctively knowing where precisely to go. The fact that his entire body continued to alarmingly throb in time with his every heartbeat had been enough for the aged wizard to recognize what was happening to him, but nothing else made any kind of sense! The very last time the Blacks had used the Summoning of the Blood spell, it'd been over three decades ago at the height of Grindelwald's war. Arcturus himself had been the one to do it, convinced that evil German wizard was about to directly use his malevolent powers to assist the Nazis in invading England during the first year of what the Muggles called World War Two.

Well, that had thankfully been nothing but a false alarm, and from what the others of his family had described later to Arcturus, they'd all felt exactly what he was experiencing now, an overpowering magical urge to assemble at where the Head of the House expected them to join him. However, that again was completely impossible!

In the fullness of time, the position of Head of the House had passed onto Arcturus' son known as Orion Black, and then to _that_ man's first son in turn. All with the older generation's blessing, who never dreamed it possible that Sirius Black would ever one day totally betray his friends and family. An even bigger shock soon came after that horrible event, with the appalling news passed onto the Black family by the Ministry of Magic only yesterday, in that his apparently-insane grandson had perished while being transported to Azkaban to serve a lifetime sentence for multiple murders.

An utterly incredible notion occurred at once to Arcturus, causing him to slow down despite his irresistible need to keep moving towards the Main Hall. As he felt sudden hope arise in his breast, a soft _pop!_ sound echoed along the hall corridor, and right in front of the elderly wizard, a much more ancient being now stood there. Coming to an abrupt halt, Arcturus winced at the intense magical demand to keep moving that was causing his every muscle to tremble, yet he still managed to call out to the very familiar figure before him, "Kreacher! What's happ-"

His ugly face calm, the house elf didn't bother to answer his former master. Instead, Kreacher simply pointed a narrow finger at the old man, who instantly froze motionless, mouth still open in his interrupted question. Right after that, yet another _pop!_ resounded throughout the corridor, as the two individuals in the hallway promptly winked out of existence.

* * *

_Pop!_

That odd noise managed to pass through the cloth of the wizarding robe Pollux Black was pulling on over his head. As his usual attire slid down his wrinkled body and his head passed through the upper opening of this garment, the maternal grandfather of Sirius Black stared in pure astonishment at who was now revealed to be sharing his bedroom. Where just moments ago, he'd been alone while being jarred awake from his normal nap by a most unnerving and still continuing experience. Taking a few steps forward, which lessened slightly the fierce urge to find his Head of the House, Pollux directed his attention to where Arcturus was standing next to Kreacher, with this immobile visitor having his mouth open, as if he was about to say something-

The house elf calmly pointed his finger at Pollux.

_Pop!_

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy burst through the nursery's doorway, a wild look on her beautiful face, as the door to this room slammed ajar against the far wall and began to bounce back. Grabbing hold with one hand onto the edge of the returning door, as she began to sway in reaction to moving in the opposite direction of where the magical spell laid upon her was commanding, the young woman bared her teeth in unaware rage against whatever might be trying to separate this mother from her child. However, the scene in the nursery was absolutely peaceful, with Pinny the house elf in the middle of feeding lunch to a male toddler having flaxen hair nearly down to his shoulders.

Holding a spoon filled with chopped peaches ready, Pinny turned in shock at seeing Mistress appearing so distraught. Especially when the lady of the house now staggered over to where Draco Malfoy in his high chair was crowing in delight at seeing Mummy, a happy sound that instantly changed into a howl of fright when the terrified woman snatched up her boy and desperately pressed him to herself.

_Pop!_

All three there - Pinny, Narcissa, and Draco - immediately turned to this noise, and saw another house elf now in the nursery thoughtfully regarding them all, right before he pointed a finger at the trio.

_Pop!_

* * *

The sound of breaking glass was all too familiar in the small house in Surrey at the outskirts of London, but for once, it wasn't the fault of the eight-year-old girl living there. As she looked up in alarm from the kitchen table at where her mother had just dropped the cup she'd been holding into the kitchen sink, Nymphadora Tonks leapt up from her chair while the fragments of glass continued to tinkle inside the sink. Rushing over to where the older woman was desperately gripping the edge of the kitchen counter to keep from falling onto her knees, the little girl appealed, "Mum! What's wrong?"

Shaking her head, Andromeda Tonks gasped, "I don't know! Get the floo powder and call your father, right now! Something's-"

_Pop!_

* * *

_Pop!_

"KREACHER! WHERE HAVE YOU-!"

_Pop!_

* * *

In a dank cell inside the worst portion of Azkaban, broken fingers scrabbled uselessly at the base of the immensely thick stone wall of her cell. Bellatrix Lestrange was barely conscious, having been greeted in the most savage manner possible during her arrival at Azkaban. Knowing exactly what this demented Death Eater had done to two of their Auror members a few days earlier, torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity with her worse Cruciatus Curse, the furious Azkaban prison guards had beaten Bellatrix nearly to death. Only the minor possibility that the Ministry of Magic might want to further interrogate the most loyal follower of Voldemort had ensured the woman's survival, with her ruined body then contemptuously tossed into the filthiest chamber in the whole foul prison.

Huddled up against the dripping wall where she'd still managed to drag herself over the cold stone floor, Bellatrix was almost totally lost in a haze of agony, with only one clear thought hammering away in her shattered mind: *Find the Head of the House! Find the Head of the House!*

Her fingers weren't working properly enough to order to overcome whatever obstacle was keeping herself from breaking free to find her summoning lord, so that left any other possible means of escaping, no matter what price might be demanded of Bellatrix for this.

Bringing her head back, the delirious, black-haired woman in the tattered clothing lying on the floor now snapped her neck forward, smashing her forehead against the strong, immovable blocks of stone. Ignoring the blood beginning to trickle down her face, Bellatrix did this again. And again… And again…

The only sounds in the cell were the thud of flesh striking against rock, eventually followed by the deeper crunch of exposed bone.

* * *

"Hello, everyone, I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here today."

Smirking at his motionless family as he strolled along the line of figures standing stiffly in the middle of the Main Hall, Sirius Black paused in front of two young women, with his sardonic face swiftly changing into actual sympathy as he reassuringly spoke to Naricssa and Andromeda posed next to each other, "Don't worry, either of you. Kreacher brought your boy and girl here too and put them in the care of Sissy's house-elf. Look, I'll show you."

After saying this, Sirius turned to wave at the far wall of the large room. As the activated locator and observation spells of Black Manor caused this partition to shimmer, it revealed an image overlying the portraits and wall decorations attached to the wall. Everyone in the hall observing this now had the chance to see how the youngest generation of the Black family were showing off the usual amity and tolerance these relations normally bore for each other, since what was then on the wall image managed to present a particularly interesting encounter between two children. Of course, it happened to be during the most mortifying point possible for all there.

A few minutes ago, Nymphadora Tonks had been frantically looking around the large garden which she'd just been transported into, unable to find her mother. The frightened little girl then flinched away from the loud screaming coming from next to herself, twisting her head to see there standing just a few feet away, where a diminutive creature dressed in a natty tea-towel was worriedly bouncing up and down in her arms a shrieking, red-faced little boy.

Trying to comfort someone nearly as big as herself, Pinny said in a truly desperate voice, "Please don't cry, Masters Draco! Mistress will be back soon, after family business over with!" In the middle of this, the house elf was abruptly distracted by the nearby young girl shouting at her.

"Where's Mum? Who are you, and where am I?"

Obediently answering over Draco's continuing bellows, the frazzled house elf nevertheless managed to say, "Mrs. Black, she be talking with family, and Pinny be taking care of Missy Black and Masters Draco! You is at Black Manor, your family home."

Nymphadora goggled at the little creature once more cradling the shrieking child in her care. The girl knew a bit about house elves, having met several during visits and play dates with other, more wealthy magical families. Though, the Tonks themselves couldn't afford one of these faithful inhuman servants- Blinking at suddenly remembering something else which Pinny had just said, someone whose first name meant 'gift of the nymphs' now protested, "Mum and I, we're not Blacks! My daddy made us Tonks, and we don't live here!"

Firmly shaking her petite head, the house elf had actual determination in her voice, as she politely corrected Nymphadora, "Wards on Black Manor be telling Pinny you is a Black, part of family blood and bone! You belong here-" The house elf was interrupted in her statement, as both she and the human girl now cringed at Draco Malfoy bringing his temper tantrum up to a whole new level with an immense howl that nearly deafened Nymphadora.

Having more than enough of this, a little lady marched forward, to stop in front of the house elf and her squirming burden. Leaning forward to look at that disgusting snot monster right in the eye, Nymphadora concentrated, and she transformed her hair into the exact shade of color possessed on his head by that yelling boy. Except, that bawl had then cut itself off in mid-scream, to change instead into a sudden gurgle of astonishment, as Draco stared wide-eyed at the stranger who'd just captured his attention.

Grinning triumphantly at the sudden peace and quiet, Nymphadora cycled her hair color into several other different shades - brown, black, green, and blue - until she performed her newest trick, one she'd mastered just a month ago. In a flash, the little girl's coiffure now became striped in a perfect imitation of a rainbow's various colors.

Hearing Pinny's sigh of relief at her charge calming down, Nymphadora looked up while still bent over in front of the pair. Smirking at the house elf, the little girl was still gazing directly at Pinny when an agonizing pain unexpectedly developed upon the female child's head. Without any warning at all, Draco's chubby hand had flashed out, to seize and yank as hard as he could upon that fascinating, multi-colored, thick strand of hair that had just been blown within grabbing distance.

The formerly peaceful gardens now rang once more to another pained howl, "LET GO OF MY HAIR, YOU LITTLE BRAT!"

* * *

Back in the Main Hall of the Black manor, a sniggering Sirius waved off the magical image. Turning to his family, the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black nostalgically said, "Reminds you of old times, doesn't it?" Abruptly sobering, Sirius now swept his intense gaze along the line of people there, which now resembled an assembly of wizard and witch statues, who could do nothing but stare back at whom was holding them captive, an actual mass murderer.

In a much different tone of iron hardness, Sirius announced, "I'm going to talk about old times again, from _my_ perspective. If that doesn't make sense to you now, it will. However, because not only is what I'm going to tell you is totally incredible, there's also the point that a few of you - hell, probably everyone! - wouldn't believe me if I said the sun was going to raise in the east tomorrow morning." Sirius's mouth thinned into a mirthless smile as he gazed into the purpling face of his mother unable to otherwise move a muscle, least of all scream back at her despised older son.

Collecting himself, Sirius now announced, "So…what I'm going to do now is to demonstrate that my story is completely and absolutely truthful when I explain to you what's happened to me. And no, I'm not going to use Veritserum, because _that_ truth potion still wouldn't be enough to convince you all. There's only one single heirloom of the Black family which would make you accept what I have to say, and nobody will go against it, no matter how you feel about me otherwise."

Pausing in his mystifying statement, Sirius looked to his left, where Kreacher had been standing quietly a few yards away through all of his master's speech, after bringing the last of the Blacks to the Main Hall. The house elf let a resigned expression pass over his wrinkled features, as he heard the expected but nonetheless truly disliked order come from Sirius: "Kreacher, bring here the Throne of Thorns."

The two _pop!_ noises were almost close enough to be one single sound, as the house elf vanished, and then reappeared, with a very strange object now placed upon the floor of the Main Hall, next to where Sirius was standing. The Head of the House then contemplated the very thing he'd just commanded Kreacher to bring from the Black family vaults, unmindful that every other member of his family were also regarding this item with actual horror in their minds, unable to even back away from that dreadful article seemingly resting innocently among themselves.

It appeared to be some kind of bizarre high-backed chair, or even an actual throne, with legs and armrests and a seat, just like any other piece of those referred furniture. Then again, instead being made from the usual wooden or metal or even stone material, this chair was entirely formed of leathery, leafless vines with an immensely sharp, finger-length black thorn protruding every fraction of an inch from along the vines. As they all stared at the countless thousands of thorns covering the entire chair, those members of the Black family being held immobile then watched in shock as their captor stepped in front of the Throne of Thorns, turned to face them, and then carefully sat down on the barbed seat.

An incredulous crowd watched the sudden twist of pain appear on Sirius' features, as numerous thorns jabbed his legs and rear, though none of the needle tips penetrated further through his wizarding robes to do more than uncomfortably prickle his flesh. There were enough of the thorns to adequately support his weight as long as Sirius didn't shift too much in his position - or as long as nothing else went wrong. Which might actually happen, as the fearful Black family watched what next occurred.

Moving entirely on their own, vines uncurled from the main structure of the fiendish chair - one of the most Dark items ever created by the Black family centuries ago - and then wrapped themselves around every portion of Sirius' body facing the others, leaving the lower half of his face below his eyebrows uncovered. The sharper-eyed members of the confined Blacks could see that the thorns on those vines holding fast his clothed body also only sank in a fraction, as did the circlet of thorns now draped around Sirius' forehead. Though, the latter vine was producing beads of blood at every point on the Head of the House's bare skin where the thorns were being held in close contact.

An aghast crowd then heard from Sirius' lips, as he began his story, which if it included _one _single lie or untruth, he'd be instantly devoured by the Throne of Thorns:

"I'm from the future."


	7. Chapter 7

By the time he'd finished off his story with a repetition of the vow he'd sworn to Kreacher in the farm grove, Sirius' worn-out voice was now a hoarse croak of pure exhaustion after well over an hour of uninterrupted narration. Surprisingly enough, the longest period of time during his tale, which was the twelve years he'd spent in Azkaban, had taken just a few minutes to relate to the seven people across this wizard, all held frozen by a magical spell as they numbly listened to a man's hellish experiences. Even so, however horrific Sirius' own captivity had been, it wasn't that particularly eventful. This still managed to be summarized in a few appalling statements describing his awful life in that prison: getting tormented by the Dementors, abused by the guards, and for over a decade being wracked with utter guilt about failing to save James, Lily, and Harry Potter from what happened to those loved ones, which Sirius Black had _chosen_ to be his family.

Those other so-called kin presently standing in front of a wizard seated in the Throne of Thorns, who could only speak with absolute truthfulness while in the deadly clutches of this piece of Dark furniture, were harshly reminded of how they'd all turned their backs upon a completely innocent man. Given that a single falsehood would have resulted in his instant death by the Throne, Sirius' tale of what had really happened in Godric's Hollow on Halloween 1981 a mere few weeks ago, and afterwards, now had to be accepted by the rest of the Black family there in the Main Hall, no matter how fantastic it seemed while speaking of a future which hadn't yet come to pass.

Everyone there learned, contrary to what they'd believed, instead of Sirius betraying the Potters, Peter Pettigrew had been the Death Eater traitor, and this shapechanging wizard hadn't died in an explosion which had also claimed the lives of over a dozen Muggles. No, indeed. Twelve years later, a relatively sane Sirius had spotted that same betrayer in his rat form when that animal appeared in a picture in the Daily Prophet, which ultimately resulted in the first successful escape by a prisoner from Azkaban.

Listening with utmost fascination, the Blacks heard all about the next couple of years: the journey to Hogwarts and meeting a teenage Harry Potter, capturing Peter but still forced to flee from the authorities without his name being cleared, and eventually returning to the British wizarding world and the house at 12 Grimmauld Place, all in the year 1996. Soon after, Sirius had rushed to the Ministry of Magic after learning his godson and that boy's friends were in danger there, and the older wizard had met in the Department of Mysteries his insane cousin Bellatrix Lestrange. These members of the Black family had then fought a duel - which ended with Sirius losing, and being sent bodily through the inexplicable Veil, an ancient stone archway used solely to execute those wizards and witches convinced of the gravest of crimes.

Just as his listeners were internally shuddering at learning of Sirius' fate, that specific wizard mentioned the most shocking part of his story: that he'd somehow wound up fifteen years in the past, right in the same ferry to Azkaban in 1981 that had taken him there after being sentenced for life to this grim prison - without _any_ kind of trial at all!

There was actual contempt in Sirius' rasping voice, as he laid out to his precious family, still held immobile as they'd been for the last hour, the finale to his incredible account. How he'd again escaped, and then to his total astonishment, found out about in some fashion once more being in the past. Above all, how Sirius Black was now absolutely determined that things were _not_ going to occur the way they'd tragically happened in his own former life.

With that fervent conclusion to his story, Sirius at last became silent, with this man's pale face peering past the fine trickles of blood that had seeped downwards from the thorns digging into his forehead. Unable to avert their own shamed glances while yet being held motionless, the rest of the Black family watched in awe at what happened next.

Once again shifting on their own, the barbed vines of the Throne of Thorns unwrapped themselves from Sirius' body, leaving him dazedly sitting in the deadly chair, still alive but truly exhausted and in agony from numerous punctures over his entire form. An instant later, that wizard gaped in total disbelief, as every single thorn abruptly changed into innumerable beautiful roses, leaving Sirius cushioned among soft and fragrant blossoms of red and white and pink and yellow colors, all intermixed together in the flowering chair.

Shakily getting to his feet, Sirius then breathed deeply, drinking in the magically refreshing aromas which were the Throne of Thorn's reward to those who'd risked using this Dark object, and survived their ordeal. His body was instantly healed, and now an invigorated Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black grimly gazed at his family standing there before their liege lord.

Without a single word, the immobility spell holding captive the other Blacks now disappeared, leaving them all sagging on their feet. Right after that, the line of seven people also inhaled the revitalizing fragrance drifting from the transformed Throne of Thorns, and they felt their own weary bodies mend from having to stand still so long. However, this recovery didn't last any further, due to the prompt vanishing of the Throne from behind Sirius. Now that this Dark object had fulfilled its intended purpose for the first time in centuries, the magic laid upon this extremely hazardous piece of furniture sent it back to the Black family vaults, where it would patiently lurk in its remote, avoided corner, waiting for the next time a desperate man or woman would once more use it to wholly prove their honesty.

Not that anyone there in the Main Hall paid very much attention to this. Instead, after a single moment of frozen silence among all present, Arcturus Black, oldest of their company, bestirred himself to stride forward one pace towards Sirius scowling at his grandfather's approach. Halting in his tracks, the saddened elderly man now carefully knelt, and he continued lowering his body, until Arcturus was sprawled out on the floor in his wizarding robes. Prone upon his stomach, Arcturus pressed his face against the cold floor tiles, and without looking up, he said in a choked voice of sheer mortification the archaic words, "Mine life is thine, to do as thou wilt. I beg thee, Sirius Orion Black, accept again my fealty, which I chose of mine own character to breach for no worthy reason."

Tears streaming down their cheeks, all but one of the other Blacks there instantly followed in Arcturus' steps, to imitate him in making their abject submission and renewing their oaths of allegiance to someone they'd also broken faith with recently. In their prone positions on the floor, Pollux Black, his sister Cassiopeia Black, Lucretia Black who was Arcturus' daughter, Narcissa Malfoy, and Andromeda Tonks repeated the affirmation of a formerly untrue vassal to their returned chieftain. While the murmur of voices wafted through the Main Hall, speaking a plea which had once been given in Latin, and before that in Brittonic, a half-dozen people lying on the floor with their heads kept low, now simultaneously lifted up their hands, holding out their hands cupped together in a beseeching gesture towards the man standing before themselves.

There, Sirius retained a composed expression upon his countenance, until he slowly nodded once to himself. The wizard strode forward to where Arcturus Black was straining to keep his aged arms in the air. Bending low, Sirius now clasped both of his hands around the wrinkled fingers of his grandfather, while saying in a stern tone the equally archaic reply, "I accept thy renewed fealty, as freely given by a Black to a Black, but know this, thou shalt have no forgiveness nor mercy from me and mine should our compact ever again be broken, from now until the doom of the world."

That declaration brought forth a soft sigh of heartfelt consent from Arcturus, who was now gently helped up by Sirius. Once the older man was upright, both Blacks gave each other a formal embrace. This soon turned into a real hug from Arcturus, along with a whisper into his grandson's ear, "I'm so sorry, boy. It was just too much, you and Bellatrix and Regulus-"

"Later, Gradda," whispered back Sirius, as he smoothly disentangled himself. Nodding in his wry agreement, Arcturus stepped aside, and he absently busied himself in brushing down his wrinkled robe, as the oldest Black watched in somber pride as Sirius moved along the line of prone people, again taking each oath and rising them up for a family embrace. Catching Pollux's eye, both grandfathers shared a relieved glance, until their heads turned at sensing a sudden change in the atmosphere of the room.

There, at the end of the line, Sirius and his mother Walburga Black were wrathfully confronting each other while trading icy stares of mutual loathing. The older woman in her mourning robes she still wore two years after her youngest son's death imperiously refused to show the slightest sign of respect to the Head of the House, right now or even when everyone else in the Black family had submitted to his authority a few minutes before. She'd been the only one to remain upon her feet when the others had prostrated themselves on the Main Hall's floor.

In a truly dangerous tone, Sirius growled, "Are you defying me, _kinswoman?_"

Both Arcturus and Pollux turned pale at Sirius' final stressed word, though Walburga continued to sneer at her son. Clearly, of the older generation, she was the only one to be unaware of her actual peril. Yet, by invoking that clan connection rather than their bond of mother and child, Sirius had made it evident that this was a tribal manner instead of a personal relationship. Her chieftain had just demanded a tribe member's allegiance, and if this was further refused, any punishment decreed by the clan's head could be rightfully ordered against the offender - up to and including exile, or even death.

Seeing Sirius' grim face at her continuing obstinacy, a sudden flicker of caution appeared deep in Walburga's eyes, only to vanish as she haughtily stated, "You're not fit to lead the Blacks! You're too soft, too weak-"

"Didn't you even bother to notice somebody missing here from our little family get-together today, dear Mother?" sarcastically interrupted Sirius, as he glared at Walburga.

Blinking at this totally unexpected inquiry, a genuinely unpleasant woman couldn't help but to look around, only to see none there but the other Blacks in the Main Hall warily observing the vicious clash between the pair. Turning back to Sirius, his mother again sneered at her son, and she began to speak-

Before Walburga could actually say anything, Sirius once more overrode her. "There are two sisters here, kinswoman. Where is the third?"

Startled, Narcissa and Andromeda, having drifted together, glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes. They'd both wondered themselves, but the chance to safely ask about their missing sibling hadn't come to pass. Now, as Walburga wordlessly sputtered, the younger pair of ladies apprehensively waited, dreading what was sure to be revealed.

Abruptly stepping closer to his mother to loom up before this flinching woman, Sirius now formally stated in his iron-hard voice, "I willingly cast the Summoning of the Blood, not just to show that our family magic still considers me to be the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but also to punish Bellatrix Black! Her crimes were many and vile, but the most disgraceful of these were her eagerness to raise her wand against the Head of the House! Our duel in the Department of Mysteries ended with my supposed death, and even if she hadn't intended this in the first place, that means nothing to the penalty demanded upon any Black guilty of attacking his or her clan leader!"

Hearing those harsh words, Pollux Black swayed, with only Arcturus Black's quick grab onto the other man's arm keeping him from falling to the ground. Still, as Arcturus worriedly gazed at his kin's despairing features, Pollux managed to jerkily nod, signifying his reluctant acceptance of the sentence which had just been passed against his granddaughter.

All there continued to listen to Sirius' unyielding tone: "I know from personal experience what Azkaban's like, and now so does Bellatrix, including how impossible it is to escape from there. But, that doesn't matter to the Summoning of the Blood. Whatever the cost to herself, under this spell's influence, Bellatrix will be forced to do anything to get free and come here. However, there's only three likely outcomes for my cousin: either she'll go completely insane trapped inside the prison walls, become such a physical wreck that she's permanently crippled, or simply die."

A horrified Walburga looked up at Sirius balefully gazing down at herself, right before he snarled, "Well, kinswoman, did _that_ show I'm too weak? Now, either swear to me, or I'll show you here and now something even worse than what I did to Bella!"

Cringing away from her furious son, Walburga hesitated for a moment, to then grudgingly bob her knees, along with muttering a few phrases of unenthusiastic allegiance. This was as far as it went, causing Sirius to contemptuously remark, "I'll take that, for what it's worth, dear Mother," as this wizard then turned away, about to step in front of them all once more.

In the middle of this, Walburga Black expressed the utter hatred she now had for her sole surviving son, by screaming at his back, "_YOU SHOULD'VE DIED, NOT REGULUS!_"

That caused the rest of the Blacks still watching this to all together gasp in shock at such disrespect to their Head of the House. Sirius himself slowly swung back, to face his raging parent while giving her a very thoughtful look. In a musing voice, Sirius now said something which Walburga never expected: "Regulus…was a better man that I am, or ever will be."

With his mother goggling at him, the wizard continued in his quiet tone, "I'll make it clear to everyone someday, that Regulas Black once met pure, absolute evil, and as a result of this, he did the hardest thing for anybody to do. He cast aside all he'd been told by those who should've known better, thought for himself, and even when he met death, he did what was right, instead of easy. Should I ever face this, I hope I'll do as well as he did. _You_ needn't bother, Mother, since you'll certainly continue to be the same selfish, arrogant, manipulative, poisonous bitch you've been your whole life!"

All there were struck dumb by Sirius roaring out those last insults, only to then stop while taking in several deep breaths while he glared at his fuming parent. Before Walburga could reply in turn with her own invectives against him, Sirius continued in his no-nonsense voice, "I've just decided, as the Head of the House, that you can't be trusted. Therefore, until I say otherwise, I'm confining you to 12 Grimmauld Place. You'll stay there in total seclusion, without any contact besides our family and our house elves, who'll also be told to keep you there and not to communicate with anyone else. I'll come up later with more rules, but in the meantime, you'll obey me, or else! Now, _begone!_"

At that last magical command, Walburga Black vanished from the Main Hall of Black Manor, never to return there for the rest of her natural life.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away in the North Sea, another magical disappearance took place, leaving a single man alone on the boat landing dock of Azkaban Prison. Angrily turning away where four people had portkeyed out of sight a moment before, the warden of this wizarding detention complex stalked towards the main door, on his way to his office. He was most decidedly not looking forward to the report he needed to write.

It'd been bad enough that a spell had been reported to be occurring through the Azkaban wards an hour before. Trying to track down this unwanted magic had taken far too long, so when they finally burst into the cell of one of their latest prisoners, Bellatrix Lestrange had nearly completed the job of dashing out her brains against the stone wall of her chamber. Even with serious head injuries, the Aurors had still needed to subdue this struggling woman by firing multiple stunners at her. Just a moment ago, while lying on a stretcher carried by two guards and being covered by another pointing his wand at Bellatrix, this insane female was still weakly shifting in her strapped position.

Well, she'd gone off to St. Mungo's, to be poked and pried at, and maybe then collected by the Unspeakables anxious to find out exactly what spell that madwoman was under. Pausing in his walk down the prison corridors, the warden shivered at an unwelcome thought: Perhaps this was a last move by You-Know-Who, making sure his secrets died with his most loyal Death Eater.


	8. Chapter 8

Sitting in her office, Millicent Bagnold, British Minister for Magic, tried to distract herself from the impending difficult meeting by wondering which of her two visitors for today would be wearing their Order of Merlin, First Class.

This had been a subject for idle speculation throughout the wizarding world's high society for almost thirty-five years now. Careful observation during that period had been unable to find any particular connection between whatever event, anniversary, or happening which took place and whom exactly of the attending pair during these occasions specifically wore the highest decoration magical Great Britain awarded to its heroes. There was growing conviction among those actually interested that beforehand, Arcturus Black and Pollux Black simply flipped a knut, with the winner (or loser) putting on that medal.

It wasn't like anyone could just ask these elderly men about this. It would've been _rude,_ after all. Not to mention the absolute certainty of receiving nothing but a very chilly gaze delivered from those Black grandfathers against those discourteous enough who might have been tempted to try, anyway.

Making it even more frustrating for those who'd become obsessed with this minor mystery was that there seemed to be no answer as to why those wizards had received and shared their Order of Merlin in the first place decades before. After making their report in utter secrecy to a closed meeting of the Wizengamot at the end of World War II, that shaken parliament had immediately awarded the Blacks their medal with accompanying thanks, and right after sending these recipients away from their meeting chamber, the council put a 100-year privacy seal upon everything, and then they'd performed a mass oblivation upon themselves.

Since then, everyone had successfully kept mum, resulting in the two men apparently trading at random their medal between each other. Which meant that both Blacks could claim whatever benefits bestowed to those awarded the Order, including something rarely used which Minister Bagnold sincerely wished didn't apply today. Among the privileges this decoration conferred upon their wearer was the right to request and at once be granted a personal appointment with the Minister for Magic. Which was going to happen in the next five minutes, unfortunately.

A very glum Millicent was certain she knew just why she was about to be paid a visit by the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and his cousin. It all had to do with the big, steaming pile of hippogriff dung which was presently plummeting from on high towards her cringing head. Namely, how exactly had it come to pass that the heir of the Black family had perished while being taken to Azkaban Prison to serve out his lifetime sentence? Despite the niggling point, having to do with one Sirius Orion Black somehow managing to avoid any kind of formal legal process during all this, which was better known as a bloody trial!

In her office, a mature witch irately ground her teeth. From what Minister Bagnold and the staff members she'd trusted enough to discretely investigate had learned, the entire cock-up began when the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, from Bartemius Crouch, Sr. himself down to the lowest Auror, had basically gotten carried away in arresting and imprisoning those disorganized Death Eaters reeling from the demise of their leader, the Dark Lord Voldemort. Eager to finally destroy that terrorist group, during this the Aurors had a maniacally-laughing Sirius Black fall right into their hands after carrying out an atrocity resulting in the death of a wizard and a dozen muggles. It'd been no surprise that this elite unit had decided upon the spot their prisoner was truly guilty and slung him directly into Azkaban.

Bagnold herself had to reluctantly admit Black's absolute culpability of his crime based upon the evidence at the scene, but this was _still_ no excuse whatsoever for skipping the legal details afterwards, such as actually convicting him in a wizarding court of law! And now, the heir of a Noble House was himself missing and presumed drowned, and he couldn't ever be brought to justice.

The Minister for Magic dearly yearned to sack not just Crouch but also every one of that idiotic man's subordinates responsible for the Black debacle. However, several reasons made this nearly impossible. For one, it was simply out of the question to gut the Department of Magical Law Enforcement while that branch of the magical government was still in the middle of cleaning up after Voldemort and his remaining forces.

Inwardly grumbling, Millicent further recognized a further political objection to firing Crouch. That sour-faced bugger had never made any real attempt to hide his ambition at one day succeeding the witch in her position as Minister for Magic. Yet, if Bagnold dismissed Crouch anyway, he'd surely at once declare to the voters she'd fraudulently done this to obstruct his own political plans. Crouch would then definitely run for Minister on a law-and-order platform no matter how hypocritical this might seem, pointing out he'd zealously used his departmental powers to make everyone safe from being murdered in their beds by masked wizarding terrorists. Moodily visualizing Crouch's forthcoming election campaign, Millicent was forced to admit to herself that man would do anything to win, including boasting how he hadn't quailed the slightest at the necessity of sending his own Death Eater son to trial and then Azkaban several days ago.

Feeling a severe headache coming on, the Minister rubbed at her throbbing temples. What made it even more unfair was that Crouch and his Aurors weren't currently having all that much success against Voldemort's forces. Oh, a lot of Death Eaters, including some of the highest ranking members, had been rounded up and were facing trial, with several of these already convicted (_now_ totally by the book, thank you very much). Nevertheless, this still wasn't enough for Bagnold. She wanted them all. Particularly, those aristocratic wizards and witches of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses, who'd been subtly working behind the scenes while using their money, influence, and power to support and advance Voldemort's plans.

As she slumped back in her chair, Millicent sighed in utmost weariness. No matter how many thugs in their black robes and scary masks that Crouch captured, unless some indisputably legitimate evidence was found proving certain specific individuals from the most dominant wizarding families had knowingly been involved in illegal activities, it'd in the end all turn out to be totally futile. The Daily Prophet could cheer in print concerning the death of You-Know-Who due to young Harry Potter, the Ministry of Magic could fill up every cell in Azkaban twice over with junior Death Eaters, and this wouldn't matter the least. Instead, those arrogant men and women utterly convinced of their pureblood supremacy would simply lie low for a time, until they found or created another Dark Lord, and then in another decade or so, the terror would begin all over again.

Which in turn only increased Millicent Bagnold's fury against Bartemius Crouch, Sr. So far, those Houses who'd produced Death Eaters from their families had been decidedly subdued in defending and supporting their arrested relatives, knowing quite well how much the majority of their society hated those murderous criminals. _If_ some genuine and acceptable proof was found further confirming other members of these Noble Houses to have been involved up to their necks in plotting to subjugate the wizarding world, _and_ if the Ministry of Magic could hold fair and aboveboard trials regarding these same conspirators, then for the first time in generations, the power of the Dark supporters would be broken.

Except that Crouch had essentially wrecked Millicent's plans. By his actions in urging the harshest measures be taken against any captured and accused Death Eater, whether or not they'd actually been part of Voldemort's gang, it'd wound up with Sirius Black unjustly meeting his death while in the custody of the government that had never gotten around to giving this man an actual trial. Once this little bit of news leaked out, _every_ Noble and Most Ancient House - Light, Dark, or Neutral - would be intensely suspicious and resistant to any further action by Bagnold's government against members of their families, no matter how justified these were. One wrong move, and it could mean an actual civil war in the wizarding world, at the very worst.

Making it even more difficult for Minister Bagnold to control her temper lately had been her meeting with Crouch just yesterday. It'd been an immense strain, but she'd managed to keep herself under control when that…that…_man_ had airily dismissed her concerns about Sirius Black and the other Houses, to then enthusiastically lay out his own plans. Crouch would continue to pursue the remaining Death Eaters while ruthlessly interrogating those criminals in his custody. Offers of lighter sentences and the possibility of serving these in other wizarding prisons besides Azkaban would surely result in somebody finally talking and implicating higher-ranking Death Eaters. Then, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could roll up the entire terrorist organization, and it'd be over with for once and all.

Precluding any concrete evidence against the suspected members of the Noble and Most Ancient House that so far nobody had come across yet, Millicent had grudgingly approved Crouch's scheme. Though, she'd also warned her subordinate in her grimmest tone that he'd _better _be successful, or there'd be extremely grave consequences. At least Crouch had seemed a bit unsettled when that wizard had finally taken his leave, giving Millicent whatever satisfaction this provided-

"Minister, your two o'clock appointment is here," interrupted the witch's secretary, as that woman nervously poked her head around the open office door.

"Thank you, Regina," courteously replied Millicent, as she stood up from her chair. Going on while glancing around the room to make a last-minute check that everything was ready, the politician now said, "Please show the Blacks in."

Slightly bowing which hid the look of mild panic in her eyes, Regina murmured, "Yes, ma'am," while pushing the door further ajar before ducking back. A few moments later, the wary secretary escorted two elderly men into the office.

Giving one appalled glance at where Arcturus Black and Pollux Black were sternly dressed in their archaic and ornate wizarding robes, that were rarely used besides the most formal of occasions among the magical society of Great Britain, Millicent Bagnold had a sinking feeling in her stomach that this wasn't going to be good at all. In fact, it had the signs of a first-class political disaster, and she knew exactly where to pin the blame for what was sure to come. For a fraction of a second, the Minster for Magic toyed with the idea of instantly offering up Bartemius Crouch, Sr. without any qualms whatsoever when the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black demanded that man's decapitated head impaled upon a pike. After all, it wasn't like Crouch's usual expression would be any different then, given that he usually looked like he'd just had a ten-foot pole shoved up his bum.


	9. Chapter 9

All too soon, the very topic that Millicent Bagnold had been secretly dreading came up in their conversation, which for the first couple of minutes had been confined to polite inquiries about each others' health and their mutual acquaintances. Now, after a pause during which Arcturus Black and Pollux Black had exchanged meaningful glances, the latter wizard squared his shoulders, which caused his Order of Merlin dangling from his neck to gently swing from side to side. Evidently taking upon his role as spokesman for his family, while Arcturus as the Head of the House remained silent but continued to keenly observe from his position seated on the right of his cousin, Pollux looked straight into the eyes of the ill-at-ease woman behind her desk. In his steadiest voice, this wizard said, "Minister Bagnold, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black desires a favor as a sign of good will from the Ministry of Magic."

Millicent felt her stomach instantly drop to the bottoms of her feet at the sound of this, which plainly appeared to be the start of an extremely unpleasant discussion regarding the demise of Sirius Black. It might have begun more courteously than she'd otherwise expected, instead of an immediate, angry demand as to why the heir to the Black family had been unlawfully sent to Azkaban without even a trial, only to mysteriously perish in a storm at sea, along with everyone else present in the ferryboat taking this prisoner and his guards to that grim magical penitentiary. Still, the feeble explanation about to be proffered by Millicent about the whole appalling mess was sure to result in an explosion of fury involving her two visitors now expectedly awaiting an answer from the Minister. Who was herself at this moment really, really unhappy over choosing a career in politics.

Nevertheless, in her own even tone, Millicent began, "Honored guests, the Ministry regrets-"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Pollux, as he pulled out several sheets of parchment from an inner pocket of his robe, leaning forward to lay these papers down on the top of a startled Minister's desk. Blinking at this completely unexpected turn of events, the Minister for Magic warily eyed the man before her settling back into his chair, as he then continued, "However, these documents will make it clear to you that our grandchild will be much more comfortable in our home - not to mention being a great deal safer for everyone."

Caught totally off guard, Millicent gaped at the two elderly wizards patiently gazing back. The woman's thoughts whirled madly throughout her mind. What in Merlin's name was going on? Could it…? No! It wasn't possible! Sirius Black was _dead!_

Grabbing the documents she'd just been given, Millicent frantically examined these, only to become even more astonished, with her mouth falling open, as the woman stared at the name displayed on the first sheet of a medical report:

_Bellatrix Lestrange_

It took several moments for Millicent to mostly regain her senses, helped along by Arcturus Black sadly clearing his throat. In an equally sorrowful voice, the Head of the House informed a dazed Minister, "It took far too long and too many consultations with each other, but the healers at St. Mungo's finally gave us their unanimous opinion. Our granddaughter's brain damage is devastating and irreversible. The most skilled practicers there of legilimency were unable to find any trace at all in her mind of the young woman Pollux and I watched grow up in our home, much less what she became later on. Oh, the body of our Bella still lives and breathes, and she'll respond at the most basic levels to the healers' numerous attempts to test her reflexes, but regrettably, there's nobody in there."

Millicent only partly paid attention to what she was hearing, since the amazed woman had been rapidly leafing throughout the remainder of the documents she'd just been given. All of these papers repeated (albeit in far lengthier medical terminology) what Arcturus had just informed her. Yet, after carefully putting down the parchments, a very dubious Minister Bagnold regarded her visitors. Not wanting to give any kind of offense, but still needing to know for sure, Millicent cautiously began to speak. "This is a total surprise to me, gentlemen. I was aware that your granddaughter had been moved from Azkaban to St. Mungo's while under guard, but I've been too busy with other things to investigate further. While I understand this is a painful subject for you both, I have to ask: is it absolutely certain what happened to Bellatrix Lestrange? Namely, could she ever recover her right mind, and perhaps answer any questions put to her?"

Both men in their chairs gave identical weary headshakes. Right after that, Pollux once more glanced at his cousin, with Arcturus giving him an infinitesimal nod. Turning back to a puzzled Millicent, the wearer (for today, at least) of the Order of Merlin answered, "All the healers agreed this is virtually impossible now, and most likely in the future for the rest of Bella's life. Which could last for decades. Other than the loss of her mental facilities, she's fine. However, there was one final indication of our grandchild's…passing."

Obviously fighting back tears over the truth of what he'd just mentioned, Pollux further husked, "At the same time we learned about this, the wards around Black Manor tripped, indicating something successfully passed through these without any warning at all. We were naturally concerned about this, and after making a thorough search, we traced the source of this magic to the Black family library."

As a surprised Millicent looked on, Pollux once more took from his robe a small, shiny object. Again placing this odd item upon the Minister's desk by the medical reports, this wizard then brought out his wand. Tapping the tip of this against the upper surface of the piece of metal he'd just placed there, Pollux intoned, "Toujours pur."

The woman seated behind her desk lifted her eyebrows in bemusement while she watched what happened next. Over a couple of seconds, the metallic object there, which was about the size and thickness of a deck of cards now magically expanded. In absolute silence, it then became a much larger iron chest, simply made with no decorations save one marring its shiny finish. Once it finished growing, the chest was about a foot wide and long, along with being several inches deep. Continuing to examine what was presently on her desk, a confused Millicent noticed the Black coat of arms engraved on the top of the chest, which included the motto that Pollux Black had just spoken.

Opening her mouth in puzzlement, the Minister's forthcoming questions were never uttered, due to the cover of the chest now swinging upwards, all by itself, without anyone touching this. Millicent's gaze was then naturally drawn to the inside of the chest, which contained only one thing: a small book or tome made up of several dozen sheets of parchment bound together. Centered in the otherwise-blank very first page were the austere words in spiky, feminine handwriting: _Bellatrix Black Me Fecit_

Looking up with an expression of sheer shock upon her features, the Minister for Magic then heard from Arcturus, who quietly lectured, "That chest is dwarven-made, one of several our family's acquired over the centuries. During its creation, runes of veracity were set into the very metal, enchanting the chest to perform one simple task, in that everything written by the author of whatever text placed in there will be nothing but the absolute truth. Generations of Blacks have used them for their diaries and memoirs. Protections laid upon the chest make it impossible for anyone but the author to open it and then write in any book or paper left in there. Furthermore, once they've put down their thoughts and experiences, not even the author can change these - and no other wizard or witch, whatever their power or the spells they know and can cast, may alter or destroy the writings in there, even if the author has died since the last time they used the chest."

As she continued to gape at Arcturus, Millicent observed a rather sardonic expression quickly pass over this wizard's wrinkled countenance, as he dryly said, "Believe me, we Blacks have occasionally tried. There are some very embarrassing and spiteful- Ahem. Anyway, as said before, it's impossible to write any kind of falsehood while using the chest. Oh, there _are_ some minor loopholes. For one, with practice, you can slant the facts of some event or occasion in order to present yourself in a much better light. You can also give your honest opinion, no matter how unkind, about other people, as long as you genuinely believe them. This leads to the final warning: if you're truly ignorant or misinformed concerning something and yet write it down as being true, that information will likely stay in. But to fabricate, lie, or set down untruths about what you personally witnessed and experienced - no, that can't be done, not by any wizard or witch who's ever used it."

With dawning awe, Millicent regarded the innocent-seeming chest and its contents, which incredibly as it might seem, could be nothing but Bellatrix Lestrange's own personal journal. And if that small book was indeed a truthful record of this woman's life as a Death Eater, the possible consequences of this discovery would be nothing less than extraordinary for the Ministry of Magic. Her growing excitement was abruptly checked by a discouraging thought which had just occurred to Millicent, to be immediately expressed to her guests. "Ah, there's the possibility of hearsay, gentlemen. Unless someone actually sees them write down whatever's in the chest, it could be argued in a court of law that it's second-hand information-"

"The goblins didn't think so," coldly interrupted Pollux Black.

When Millicent glanced at this wizard in her surprise over that icy comment, she flinched at seeing an entirely unexpected look of pure rage upon this elder's face. The alarmed woman nervously listened as Pollux furthermore snarled, "After reading the first part of Bella's diary, we took it and the chest to Gringotts right away. They're familiar enough with that type of dwarvenwerk, and they speedily confirmed it was no-one except my granddaughter who wrote it. Which only made it even worse," ended the wizard, his lined features abruptly sagging in real grief.

"Pardon me?" risked Millicent, sensing they were now approaching troubled waters, and it behooved her to do nothing that might cause any kind of offense to her guests.

Giving a very reluctant sigh, Arcturus Black waved a hand in evident permission towards the chest, and for the first time, the Minister of Magic reached out to gingerly turn the first page, as she started reading Bellatrix Black's journal. Two minutes later, Millicent Bagnold lurched upwards from her chair, hastily clapping a hand over her mouth during this, and the paling woman instantly bolted towards the doorway to the private washroom on the left side of the office. Fortunately, the door to this was already open, so Millicent managed to get inside to reach her objective before she finally lost control of her stomach.

As the sounds of retching came from the other room, Arcturus and Pollux traded bleak glances with each other, but they otherwise remained silent. Neither of these elderly wizards were willing to speak freely among themselves in a place where both men were absolutely certain they were being kept under some sort of magical surveillance for the Minister's protection.

Eventually, Millicent returned to her office, having cleaned up a bit before this, and she again took her seat. Looking sympathetically at the pair of grandfathers across from herself, the witch gently said, "I'm sorry."

Dignified nods acknowledged Millicent's condolences, but it was Arcturus who now formally spoke in his capacity as the Head of the House. "Madam Minister, due to the loathsome behavior of Bellatrix's…_husband_" (that last word was actually spat out in sheer disgust) "and his equally abhorrent brother, which sent our beloved child on her path to joining Voldemort and the rest of his filthy crew, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has declared a House Feud against the House of Lestrange, and any other house allied with that named family."

Millicent abruptly sat up straight in her chair, incredulously gazing at the man appearing totally matter-of-fact in his own seat, despite uttering something which hadn't been proclaimed in the wizarding world for well over a century. Much to the relief of all there living in this society, with good reason. A House Feud was war to the knife between two or more magical families, and it wouldn't end until there was only one house standing, however many people had to die in order to achieve this.

Starting to protest, the Minister was cut off before she could begin, by Arcturus continuing in his forbidding voice: "Our first move against our foes started when the goblins confirmed the authenticity of the diary. That in turn lead to us bringing to their attention the marriage compact our family and the Lestranges jointly agreed upon before the wedding of Bellatrix and Rodolphus. After the goblins thoroughly reviewed the compact, they agreed that none of the provisions of the compact had been fulfilled - particularly the requirement to provide a heir." Arcturus then grimaced in sudden disgust, no doubt to his unwelcome knowledge of the obscene proclivities of the Lestrange brothers which prevented any chance whatsoever of offspring.

Taking over from his cousin, Pollux sternly continued. "As a result, the goblins heavily fined the House of Lestrange, turning virtually all of their assets, including the family vault at Gringotts, over to Bellatrix as the injured party. Since she's presently incapable of managing her affairs, we accepted this on her behalf. In addition, since we're now in loco parentis for our granddaughter, we also authorized the dissolution of her marriage, making Bellatrix a Black once more."

Millicent found herself shaking her head, not in denial, but in absolute amazement at what she'd just learned. Being known Death Eaters, the Lestrange brothers were currently imprisoned in Azkaban, and they'd now lost all their money - which had to be considerable, given that avaricious family had a reputation for miserliness over the centuries.

A politely-cleared throat brought the Minister's attention back to Arcturus, who steadily gazed at the witch, while this wizard informed her, "The House of Black wants to do what's best for Bella, which is why we're asking for her to be released into our custody. Our family also guarantees her future good behavior, even though her helpless condition now makes this somewhat moot. However, we can easily provide our granddaughter with the best of medical care, plus protection from anyone who still might wish to harm her for her past actions. We recognize that while Bella is no longer responsible for what she did, this in no way absolves her of any grief, pain, and bitterness borne by her surviving victims and their loved ones. As a consequence, the House of Black will anonymously set up a fund at St. Mungo's for all those injured - mentally and physically - during the recent conflict, consisting of every single knut confiscated from the Lestranges."

The Minister for Magic leaned back in her chair, eyes thoughtfully narrowing as she considered this. The witch was seriously contemplating the possibility of agreeing to the Blacks' request. After all, if Bellatrix Lestr- _Black _was truly mentally incapacitated and no longer a threat to anyone, then let her family have this brain-damaged young woman. It'd free up the Ministry from the responsibility and cost of providing care and security to that former Death Eater for perhaps the next few decades or so. Not to mention that during this time, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would surely continue in their determined attempts to get Bellatrix turned over to them, all while becoming increasingly annoyed with the Ministry. Who, incidentally, could very well use the unknown (but undoubtedly enormous) amount of money that this family had just offered to the wizarding world's hospital. Yesss…as long as this was carefully presented to the voters, there was the likelihood of Bagnold and her administration getting a lot of credit over everything-

A soft cough from Pollux Black brought Millicent's attention back to her visitors. This wizard then courteously said, "Madam Minister, to assist you in your decision, we'd like to share with your something else Bellatrix wrote in her diary. If I may…?"

The puzzled witch nodded, as she then watched Pollux again draw his wand and flick it in a casual gesture towards the metal chest upon her desk. At the same time, the elderly man spoke a single word: "Malfoy."


	10. Chapter 10

"But his lawyer's claiming Lucius Malfoy was under the Imperius curse throughout it all!" half-heartedly protested Millicent out loud to herself, as she continued to read through the diary laid out on her desk.

This brought forth two absolutely identical snorts of sheer cynicism from across the desk, which in turn caused the Minister for Magic to raise her head and gaze in puzzlement at where Arcturus and Pollux Black were exchanging very scathing glances. The former wizard spoke first, "I was in a cellar at the outskirts of Calais just after the French surrender, Pollux. Where was the first time for you?"

"A nice little gasthaus in Munich," answered his cousin. Going on with a supremely evil glint in his eye, Pollux further reminisced, "It was really a shame to have to burn it down afterwards, but considering it was full of stunned Gestapo bastards, I didn't mind all that much."

Millicent nervously cleared her throat to attract the notice of the bloodthirsty old men in her office. Turning to face her, Arcturus Black affably informed the wary witch, "Madam Minister, as you've just heard, we both underwent the Imperius and also cast it during Grindlewald's war, so that Unforgivable is quite familiar to us. Which only makes Malfoy's defense even more ridiculous. It's like trying to get out of a charge of public drunkenness by saying you're so sensitive to alcohol that someone opening a bottle of wine at the other end of a room will instantly turn you blotto, all without it being in any way your fault. Concerning the Imperius, it's true for most wizards that the spell is virtually impossible to fight off and regain control of yourself. It _can_ be done, mind you, but it takes a very uncommon wizard to succeed in this." After saying this last sentence, Arcturus smirked with quiet satisfaction.

Rolling his eyes in resigned exasperation, Pollux Black joined in the conversation, as Millicent switched her attention to him. "After being cast and whatever action you want has been done, the Imperius will eventually wear off. The only way for it to be a long-term curse is to continually cast it upon your victim, except this tends to seriously affect their personality and sanity. If Malfoy really underwent the Imperius as long as he claims he did, that man's brains should have turned into mush years ago."

Leaning back in her chair, the woman glumly waved a hand in the direction of the small tome she'd been reading. "So, the whole point of Malfoy's defense is just for public consumption?"

Nodding in icy agreement, Arcturus said in his sternest voice, "Yes, and while that's going on, he'll be spending gold like water, now that Lucius knows specifically who in your government are willing to be bribed to help him get declared innocent of all charges."

Millicent dropped her gaze to the desktop, feeling her face heat up in angry embarrassment, but she was unable to deny the truth of her visitor's slighting words. Not when it was set down right there in the diary before her, every single name of those people in the Minister's establishment who'd already illegally received money from a Death Eater to advance Voldemort's plans. What's worse, the witch in her office personally _knew_ a good many of these individuals, counting them as friends, supporters, and those who owed their jobs to herself. Now, Millicent had to destroy others' careers and lives in needfully cleaning house for however painfully it took, eradicating as far down as possible the rot of corruption in her government.

She'd do it, though. No amount of excuses, pleading, or reminders of past favors or friendships would sway Millicent Bagnold at all from firing nine-tenths of her administration, if that was needed, and she'd still grimly continue with prosecution and prison sentences in the most blatant cases. Great Merlin, one man in particular seemed to think he deserved a bag of under-the-counter gold coins every month simply for breathing! Well, even if she eventually had to leave office after being voted out by a populace justly furious with her and the latest regime, Millicent could at least take some comfort in the thought of that idiot Cornelius Fudge being tossed into Azkaban-

The mature woman's thoughts came to an abrupt, reluctant halt, as a previous objection once more raised its hand. Millicent cautiously pointed out to her guests, "Excuse me, gentlemen, but while the goblins might be willing to conduct their business based on what they know about your family heirloom and its truthfulness enchantment, the wizarding world is hardly likely to be so easily convinced. For instance, Malfoy's lawyers will be sure to contest everything-"

"Oh, there's no need to worry about that, Minister," blandly interrupted Arcturus. The Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black continued with only the faintest of smiles, as he further told the confused politician, "It's true we've always managed to keep confidential the contents of that exact chest and the rest like it in our family vaults, but over the centuries, other wizards and witches who owned one of them weren't so successful. The goblins know about several legal cases in the past when the Wizengamot made their final judgment based on information obtained from documents kept in the dwarvenwerk chests. All you need to do is to contact them, and Gringotts will provide the specifics for your prosecutors."

It was only the seriousness of their discussion which prevented Millicent from immediately jumping out of her chair, snatching up Bellatrix's diary, and clasping this book to her bosom while next joyously dancing around in the office. She'd just learned what would warm the heart of any bureaucrat, that there were indisputable official _precedents_ which would finish off the job of finally nailing Lucius Bloody Malfoy along with his bloody hair and that bloody snake-head cane-

Er. Before she actually did something like that to offend her visitors, there was a particularly delicate matter which needed to be brought up right now, just so no nasty surprises would develop in the future. Sending a very direct look at the pair of elderly men benignly gazing back at herself, Millicent declared in her most officious tone, "It's in the Ministry's best interest to deal as severely as possible with the remains of Voldemort's forces, if only to make it clear that nothing of this kind of behavior will ever be tolerated again." Despite the fact the wrinkled faces turned to her were becoming decidedly forbidding, the witch plunged on. "Or, to put it more bluntly, Lucius Malfoy is for one going to have the book thrown at him, and there's the point he married into your family-"

In a severe voice, Arcturus Black overrode the Minister for Magic: "That would ordinarily be private House business, madame." After this genuinely irascible remark, the wizard took a deep, steadying breath, and while still glowering at the stubborn woman across her desk, he grudgingly went on. "However, since the news will be out shortly, it can be disclosed that the House of Malfoy and the House of Black are ending their familial connection."

After watching Millicent's shocked expression change into absorbed wonder over this astonishing information, Arcturus then glanced over at where a stone-faced Pollux sat immobile in his chair. Turning once more to the curious witch, the Head of his House sighed to himself, and then Arcturus unhappily told her, "It was needful to show our granddaughter what Bellatrix wrote in her diary about Lucius and his atrocious acts while serving Voldemort, regardless of the unpleasant details this revealed to her. The only good thing about it is that Bella confirmed Narcissa's complete ignorance of her husband being a Death Eater, since he naturally concealed this and everything else from her."

"What about the Dark Mark? Wouldn't Mrs. Malfoy have noticed this?" a frowning Millicent had to ask.

Before Arcturus could answer, Pollux said in a very cold voice that actually lowered the temperature of the entire room, "In their personal life together, Narcissa overlooked that magical brand." Bitter tears gleamed at the corners of this grandfather at the end of his harsh statement, a sign of the wizard's complete unwillingness to speak further.

Giving his cousin a very sympathetic look, Arcturus then glanced at the subdued woman, telling her, "It's all there in the diary, unfortunately. Once Narcissa…recovered, she instantly demanded that divorce papers be drawn up by our family attorneys. This was completed just yesterday, and she signed these right away. Copies of those documents were sent to the Ministry and to Lucius in custody, and you and everyone else would've learned about it then. Anyway, Narcissa and her son Draco are no longer Malfoys. They have been accepted by and are now again part of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

There was absolute silence in the office for a few moments, with the unspoken thoughts of the trio there hovering in the air, all having to do with the House of Black once more having an actual heir.

Desperately trying to think of a neutral subject to restart their conversation, Millicent quickly came up with something that seemed safe enough. The minister directed her question to either of the seated wizards, wondering exactly who'd be the one to answer. "Given that both of your granddaughters were married to captured Death Eaters, did Narcissa have a claim to her husband's vault in Gringotts, like Bellatrix did?"

While both of the elders allowed themselves a sardonic twist of their lips, it was Arcturus who chuckled evilly, "Oh, yes, indeed. The goblins got involved again, after we showed them another Black marriage compact, particularily the penalty clause in there on the groom's side that had to do with maintaining a responsible and decorous standard of married life. Anyway, it wound up with Narcissa being repaid her dowry, and also acquiring all the funds and items added to the Malfoy vault after the wedding, up to a week ago. The little buggers wouldn't turn over anything to Sissy before that, but what she got represents a rather large chunk of Malfoy's wealth. That pillock will now have a serious crimp in his plans to buy his way out of prison."

Millicent observed with uneasy fascination, as the pair of old men before the desk both simultaneously chortled together in their fiendish glee. She was watching, the minister nervously reminded herself, a prime example of why it was well known throughout the wizarding world to never make an enemy of the Black family. The woman's attention was quickly brought back to the office by the sudden silence in the room. She looked around to see today's visitors having stopping their unnerving laughter to instead being in the middle of steadily examining her. Before Millicent could react to those unwavering stares, Arcturus spoke again, once more in the most formal of tones, "Madam Minister, the House of Black now comes to the most important reason for our request to personally meet you at this time."

*Sometimes you get the Bludger and sometimes the Bludger gets you,* fatalistically thought Millicent. She braced herself for what was sure to come; but once again, things didn't quite work out the way the witch had expected. A puzzled Minster for Magic then watched as Arcturus drew his own wand and pointed this at Bellatrix's diary lying upon the desk, making a quick gesture with the wooden stick while muttering a short phrase too softly for Millicent to hear. In front of the woman, the small book now opened itself to a previously unread portion of the diary. In mounting curiosity, Millicent started to read the text shown there, only to soon enough have this inquisitiveness change into absolute horror.

With slashing handwriting showing her evident outrage, Bellatrix's words spilled forth on the paper, about how while keeping an eye out for any disloyalty to her Dark Lord, she'd overheard two drunken Death Eaters celebrating a horrific raid on some stray muggles. During their boasts to each other over what they'd done and would eagerly do again, one of the killers had enviously remarked that his companion would get off scot-free if the Aurors ever managed to lay their hands upon him, unless things had changed lately. Finishing off the rest of his firewhiskey, Bartemius Crouch Jr. smirked at his jealous friend, and he went on to brag that the plan he and his slowly-dying mother had set up was still in effect. Though this terrorist's father loathed what his son was doing, the older man had reluctantly consented to his wife's piteous pleas to use his authority and power as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to arrange for the clandestine exchange of the woman suffering from a terminal illness with her child if young Bartemius ever wound up in Azkaban.

After hearing this, Bellatrix had nearly slaughtered Crouch Jr. and his friend on the spot. Only the abrupt understanding that her master needed to know at once about this made the Black daughter silently leave her spot where she'd been eavesdropping and go off to find Voldemort. Listening with great interest to the report of his most faithful follower, the Dark Lord had quickly decided to refrain from interfering now that he knew all about this surprising plan of the Crouch family. Should it indeed occur for whatever reason, the capture of the Death Eater son and the switch by the father for the mother, then Bartemius Crouch Sr. would subsequently be owned body and soul by Voldemort. Under the monster's total control due to threatening to reveal this secret, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be forced to do whatever He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named desired while taking over the Ministry of Magic.

Commandingly ordering Bellatrix to keep quiet about what she'd learned and to also leave the younger Crouch alone, Voldemort felt actual approval at his subordinate's instant obedience, and he decided to grant a rare favor. The Dark Lord then calmly informed a joyous Bellatrix that while one of the Death Eaters she'd spied upon was not to be harmed, it was best to speedily dispose of any potential witnesses. Therefore, as soon as it could be done without arousing any suspicions, Bellatrix was to abduct Bartemius Crouch Jr.'s friend, and she could then do whatever she liked to _that_ unfortunate gentleman.

In the diary, a vicious young woman went on to gloatingly describe the hideous fate she'd subsequently inflicted upon her kidnapped victim, but at that point, Millicent Bagnold had stopped reading to blankly stare at the top of her desk, the woman's head lowered in purest despair.

Right now, Bartemius Crouch Jr. was supposed to be serving a twenty-year sentence in Azkaban due to being an accomplice to the attack upon Alice and Frank Longbottom, which had driven these two Aurors into mindless insanity. Except, if what Millicent just read had indeed come to pass, there was instead inside a prison cell a dying woman who'd taken that freed Death Eater's place, and Minister Bagnold's department head was directly responsible for this.

It didn't matter the slightest even if the reprehensible scheme of the Crouch family hadn't actually been carried out at this exact moment. Just for joining in the conspiracy to liberate his son, Crouch Sr. had commited a crime serious enough to also put him in Azkaban, and now Millicent was going to have to arrest, charge, and send to trial one of her most senior department officers. In past decades, previous governments of the wizarding world had fallen after smaller scandals than what was about to happen, which would well overshadow anything less important, such as the death at sea of-

A terrible realization now burst into existence inside Millicent's mind. She slowly looked up, to immediately find herself pinned back in her chair by two pairs of absolutely merciless eyes.

Arcturus Black and Pollux Black, they _knew._

In the utterly hushed office, despite it all, Millicent had to admire the sheer artistry of the vengeance just accomplished by the House of Black. Even that Noble and Most Ancient House would've found it rather difficult to unreservedly bring down low someone so powerful as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but now this task would necessarily be carried out by somebody who partly shared in the blame for the awful injustice done to Sirius Black. No matter how much it cost her, or anyone else.

Standing up on stiff legs, Millicent Bagnold waited for her visitors to also arise, in response to this clear sign that their meeting was concluded. Using equally stiff lips, the expressionless witch intoned towards where Arcturus and Pollus were standing and waiting with perfect poker faces, "The Ministry of Magic owes the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black a true debt, and this shall be paid in full in the proper time. So mote it be!"

A few minutes later, Millicent closed the office door behind herself. She'd personally escorted the Blacks out of the Ministry, a signal honor which nobody among the trio had remarked upon, and after returning to the reception area, Millicent had brusquely told her startled secretary to cancel the rest of her appointments for the day. Moreover, if anyone still insisted upon seeing the Minister for Magic, it'd bloody well better be a genuine emergency or some other unforeseeable event, such as Merlin himself picking today to drop in for a chat and a cuppa.

Speaking of something to drink…

Stepping over to the right-hand side wall of bookshelves filled with thick tomes of wizarding laws and regulations, Millicent tapped a finger several times in an unmistakable sequence against a particular trio of volumes. At once, all three books vanished, leaving behind there on the shelf a hollow space filled with a very dusty bottle and a pair of much cleaner glasses. Grabbing the bottle and one of the glasses, Millicent headed to her desk, all while reflecting this was the first time she'd ever had to perform one of the oldest traditions for the Minister for Magic. At the end of these politicians' terms of office, whether they left willingly or got metaphorically dragged out from power kicking and screaming, it was customary to put in that space a replacement decanter of the finest and most expensive firewhiskey they could find for their successor. Given that sooner or later, something would come up which simply could not be faced while being stone-cold sober.

Millicent Bagnold was now going to have to read the entire diary of Bellatrix Black, from cover to cover.

Several hours on, a very tired witch leaned back in her chair, and she loudly belched. Owlishly staring at the flicker of flames appearing from her mouth, Millicent then let her bleary gaze fall to the heap of paper now covering every inch of her desktop. Vaguely remembering the liquor had run out sometime earlier, Millicent didn't bother looking under the numerous sheets of documents for the firewhiskey bottle. Instead, the weary woman started to pull towards herself the notes she'd been incessantly scribbling, long enough for her wrist to start fiercely aching. It didn't help any that she now started a bit wobbly to stack the papers, until she was done and had one single pile of jotted-down plans, records, and lists. Glancing at the top sheet of the stack, Millicent found there a registrar of Voldemort's entire Death Eater membership, which at the very bottom of the page had the name of someone who was completely unfamiliar to her:

_Severus Snape_


	11. Interlude One

"I married the most handsome man on earth, became the lady of a manor, and had a lovely baby boy," Narcissa Black bitterly spoke, "and it was all based on lies, betrayal, and murder."

The beautiful witch seemed to shrink into her kitchen chair while she clutched at her teacup. Slowly looking around at the modest yet welcoming room where two sisters were having a family discussion for the first time in years, Narcissa gazed at the small cork board attached to the wall by the refrigerator, where several childish drawings were pinned onto this flat surface. In a much more subdued voice, this woman confessed sadly, "You did a lot better than I, 'Meda."

Seated across from her younger sister, the wife of Ted Tonks uncomfortably sipped from her own teacup, as she tried to think of the best way to respond to this which wouldn't further depress Narcissa. At last coming up with something, to then firmly put down her cup upon the kitchen table of her house, Andromeda tactfully reminded today's guest, "Sissy, you got Draco out of it. Doesn't that make up for a great deal?"

Allowing a tremulous smile to appear on her lips, Narcissa meekly nodded, only to have her flawless features abruptly shift into utter dejection again. She sniffled loudly, "But what am I going to _do,_ to make sure he doesn't ever turn out like that…that…_bastard!_" Pure rage now distorted the blonde woman's face as she vindictively hissed the final word.

Andromeda worriedly eyed her sister clearly fighting to control herself. Waiting for Narcissa to become a bit calmer, the older witch finally had a chance to ask, "Is - I mean, will it be - oh, you know what I'm trying to say! Is it going to be that bad? I don't honestly remember Sirius saying anything about Draco when he was in that ghastly chair."

Narcissa sighed deeply, and she then told her expectant sibling, "Yesterday, I was able to catch our cousin alone for a few minutes at Black Manor, and after badgering him without mercy, he broke down and made a clean breast of things. Sirius did warn me he never actually encountered Draco in, um, the other world, after escaping from Azkaban for the first time. But, our cousin reluctantly passed on what Harry Potter and his friends told him. Even if you disregard nine-tenths of it as normal juvenile bad feelings, what's left was appalling enough. My son turned out to be an arrogant bully, who mistook the fact he'd lived a privileged life as license to run roughshod over everyone at Hogwarts! What's even worse, whenever that Draco's puerile schemes - which, by the way, makes me despair for what Slytherin House turned into - blew up in his face, his immediate cowardly response was to always hide behind his father's influence!"

The ranting blonde at long last ended out of breath at that point, fixedly glaring across the kitchen as she gasped for breath. Eventually, the total silence in the kitchen registered upon Narcissa. She then glanced once more at where her seated sister was steadily gazing back with a mostly blank expression upon this other mother's features. It was strange, how the flesh at the corners of Andromeda's eyes were taut, which when they'd been growing up together with Bellatrix, had always been a dead giveaway for…_smugness?_

An awful suspicion instantly materialized inside Narcissa's mind, as she straight away menacingly demanded, "'Meda, did _you_ ask Sirius what Nymphadora was like when she grew up?"

Taking a meditative sip of her tea, the female parent of the eight-year-old girl who was now presently showing her toddler cousin around the back yard of her home, Andromeda Tonks blandly continued to stare at Narcissa Black, until the older woman was rewarded with the infuriated sound of her sister's grinding teeth. Mentally chalking up another win for herself in their sibling rivalry, the housewife graciously answered, "Oh, Sirius never met her either before he was cleared, which he was both glad for and regretted, given that as an Auror, she'd have had to arrest him on the spot. Yes, indeed, Dora, as he called her - for some reason, she hated her full name - was a full-fledged member of the Auror Corps."

Andromeda paused to beam proudly at her obviously jealous sister, while also making an inner note to ask their Marauder cousin to never mention how clumsy Nymphadora turned out to be. She'd have to do something about this - maybe enrolling her little girl in ballet classes-

Andromeda's pleased thoughts were then rudely interrupted by Narcissa groaning out loud in purest despondency as this woman dropped her face into her cupped palms propped by the elbows upon the kitchen table. Feeling more than a little guilty, the older witch of the pair reached across to give a comforting pat to Sissy's shoulder. This immediately produced a weeping countenance lifted up from her hands and piteously directed at her startled sister, as Narcissa wailed again, "What am I going to _DO?_ I don't have the faintest idea how to bring Draco up properly so he doesn't turn into that horrible boy-!"

"Not _you,_ Narcissa," sternly interrupted Andromeda, who then went on in her absolutely determined tone as her sister continued to gape in shock across the kitchen table. "Us. Everyone. Me, Ted, Nymphadora, Sirius, Grandfather Arcturus and Pollux, the aunts, _and_ you. Us, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. We're family and family takes care of its own, no matter what they've done or might turn out to be! Draco Black is going to make our house proud, and you better believe it!"

Simultaneously arising from their chairs, Andromeda and Narcissa fiercely embraced each other, and for the next couple of minutes they immensely enjoyed a good solid cry together.

Up to the moment when an enraged girl outside in the backyard screamed at the top of her lungs: "_MUUUUUUMMM!_"

* * *

Young Draco had just found the most wonderful toy in the whole world.

The little boy didn't understand a lot of things that'd been happening around him lately - how he was supposed to now call himself a Black instead of a Malfoy, why Daddy wasn't around anymore, why Mummy kept hugging him while crying at unexpected moments. However, this didn't matter at all. Right now, the towheaded child had watched very closely the operation of what his cousin called a 'garden hose', and he'd instantly grasped both the concept and end of this long, plastic, flexible tube when Nimffie had finished watering the flowers bordering the otherwise bare plot of land in the middle of the lawn which was intended for vegetables later on. Sneaking around behind the older girl when she'd turned the faucet off and dropped the hose to walk away and finish off the tour for her unwanted and despised charge, Draco now had an expression of absolute concentration upon his chubby face as he stood there, one small hand twisting the faucet fully open again, and the other hand aiming the end of the garden hose straight at his cousin's departing back.

To Draco's absolute delight, the ensuing powerful stream of water had scored a direct hit, and the entertainment hadn't stopped there, when a shocked Nimffie whirled around so quickly her feet shot out from under herself. Landing with a heavy thump onto her rear in the dirt of the garden plot, the girl had furiously screamed for help, with this howl only continuing when Draco went onto the next step. Stopping his drenching of the helpless lass, Nymphadora didn't have time to feel more than the merest flicker of gratitude until Draco next aimed the stream of water right at the dirt ground in front of the girl, which promptly turned into mud that messily sprayed all over her.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw the back door of the house leading into the kitchen burst open, with his Auntie Andie dashing outside, only to stop short in astonishment at seeing what was going on. Feeling more than happy to expand his target list, the little boy swung his body around while still holding the hose, and with superb accuracy, he now scored another direct strike against one more member of the Tonks family, dousing the entire chest of his aunt, who reacted by spluttering, raising her arms in an hopeless gesture of protection, and reeling back to expose-

Mummy was there too, standing with her mouth open and having a teary face. Draco didn't like that at all, but Mummy always wiped away her tears, so he'd be a good little boy and help her with this.

Draco Black then soaked his mother from head to toe.

A couple of very frantic minutes later, Narcissa Black was lying on her back in the middle of the garden plot, feeling the very expensive dress she'd been wearing today greedily absorb every drop of mud there and completing its utter ruination. Her beloved child, who'd been the cause of it all, was howling in her arms at his fun being interrupted. Craning her head around while her dripping hair brushed against the ground to pick up even more mud, Narcissa looked at an equally grimy Andromeda Tonks in the eye as this other witch also laid down on her stomach on the ground a few feet away.

Giving her sister a very evil stare, Andromeda was holding the still operating garden hose away from herself, while with her other arm, she was pinning down a flailing Nymphadora. Desperately trying to claw herself over the plot to where she could tear that little monster to shreds, both the girl's face and hair were the exact color of the tomatoes growing under glass at the far corner of the backyard.

Narcissa opened her mouth to say… Instead, an entirely unexpected guffaw burst from her throat, followed by even more joyous laughter over the whole ridiculous situation.

Gawking at her clearly insane sister, Andromeda listened in wonder to genuine mirth from someone who badly needed this. Beginning to grin herself, the older sibling started to chuckle, and then she turned this into equally gleeful whooping, as the Black women roared together in their shared hilarity despite being absolutely filthy.

Draco and Nymphadora, on the other hand, had both become absolutely entranced by their mothers' strange behavior, with the children now giving each other an identical 'grown-ups are crazy' look. These wary expressions soon enough changed to absolute horror, when both youngsters were firmly marched back into the house, after first performing a very humiliating act.

* * *

Nearly two decades later, the same horrified looks were back again on the features of these Black children, all while around them, the entire reception hall rocked with laughter while Andromeda Tonks gleefully described how since it made no sense to refill their bathtub again after one child got clean, both of the stripped-bare kids, whose encrusted clothing had been left outside, had been forced to share the same tub. Along with lots and lots of bubble bath foam.

Looking across the wedding table at where his mother was smirking at him, Draco tore his gaze away to then glance down the table at the head where his cousin in her pure white dress was covering her face with both gloved hands in sheer embarrassment. He decided to join her, only in his own fashion as Draco slumped down in his seat and intently stared at the tablecloth there, as if it held the secret to personal immortality. To make it even more uncomfortable, his girlfriend at his left side had dissolved into giggles several minutes ago. The recent Hogwarts graduate with ash-blonde hair glumly felt his ears turn bright red, knowing that he'd never live this-

Leaning over all of a sudden to whisper into the crimson ear of the heir of the Blacks, the young lady he'd recently become serious about now softly cooed, "Draco, I had no idea you were so devoted to hygiene. Tell you what - if we time it right, we can leave the reception early and get back to your apartment in Black Manor, where we can have a good, long…_scrub_ together." That incredible offer was accompanied by a feminine hand giving his left thigh a very sensuous squeeze.

_Well,_ now.

Instantly perking up, Draco gave the young woman on his left an eager smile, which turned into an equally gleeful smirk towards his mother, who was herself looking a trifle suspicious. Glancing over to where Andromeda was drawing her wand to reveal to the whole room exactly how little Dora had looked in her foamy witches' hat, a man who was about to make his own toast to the bride and the groom later on luxuriated in his cousin's mortification, since it'd make it far easier for him to arise to his feet without exposing the fact that Draco Black's _other_ wand was stiffer than it'd been since, oh, last night.


	12. Interlude Two

With all the calm assurance of a stately pre-war ocean liner making port, Lucretia Black sank into the dining room chair, held ready by the hovering server.

"Thank you, dear," graciously murmured this still-stunning mature woman once again obeying the long-ago dictum expressed by her mother: "No matter what, young lady, never be rude to the servants. The good ones don't deserve it, the bad ones can simply be sacked, and the imaginative ones will have plentiful opportunities to safely retaliate against your unfairness."

When the pretty waitress in her smart outfit glided off to collect her patron's usual order, Lucretia approvingly glanced around. Just as it'd done so for most of the century, the dignified London hotel known as the Waterford Arms was hosting its celebrated Sunday afternoon tea. In a large, oak-paneled room with ornate crystal chandeliers high overhead, the dining room contained about two dozen small tables, each filled with people dressed in their best, many who'd come directly here after church services. Several more hotel attendants were reverentially depositing upon the tables' blindingly white tablecloths numerous tiered silver plates piled high with cakes, tiny sandwiches, and pastries.

Nodding with quiet satisfaction over how fitting and proper the scene was, Lucretia looked out past the French windows set in the far wall of the other side of the room into the formal gardens beyond which made up the center court of the hotel. Normally lush and verdant from spring to fall, the gardens were now starkly bare under grey skies, with most of the leaves gone from the trees there. Any flashes of color came from the year-round greenery, with whatever flowers planted in the garden sensibly delaying their blooming until the rest of November and the ensuing winter months were finished and good weather came again. Switching her gaze back from the austere garden to the more vibrant dining room, Lucretia observed the waitress returning to her table while pushing along a food trolley.

This small wheeled table stopped next to Lucretia, who cast a critical eye upon the array of today's proffered delicacies, before at last giving an accepting dip of her carefully-coiffured head. All the contents of the trolley were then smoothly transferred to Lucretia's table, with the last load being an antique silver teapot polished to sparkling brightness and emitting happy puffs of steam from the spout. With this done, the waitress now deferentially inquired, "Will there be anything else, ma'am?"

Glancing across the table to where an empty chair opposite was waiting, Lucretia performed a well-mannered headshake before dismissing the waitress. "Not at this moment. My companion will be along soon, I'm sure."

"Very good, ma'am. I'll be back at once, should you need me." Giving a demure half-bow, the waitress went off to her other duties, taking the trolley with her.

Upon her flawlessly made-up face, Lucretia allowed the faintest of twinkles to appear in her unique violet eyes. Oh, that most certainly went without saying. After all, not only had she and her cousin been staunchly attending afternoon tea at the Waterford Arms for nearly fifty years now (ever since their previous Sunday rendezvous had been destroyed in the Blitz), the Black family had also been a silent partner in the hotel ever since, owning a decidedly sizable interest of that commercial enterprise. This was the main reason why Lucretia was seated in the most secluded, private table in its own cubicle at the far back corner of the dining room.

Examining the well-stocked plate before her, Lucretia lifted a chiseled eyebrow at seeing something rather disturbing there in the several tiers of the tray. On the dessert level, there was one particularly scrumptious-looking cake possessing what appeared to be fresh strawberries for topping. Her favorite! However, the little tidbit was on the side of the tray facing the empty seat, which under the rules of their little tête-à-têtes, this made it the property of her cousin Cassiopeia. After taking her chair, that other mature woman would ordinarily have the first choice on whether she wished to eat the mouth-watering cake.

Hmm…

There _was_ the possibility of a slight loophole at this exact point. If Cassie had actually managed to show up on time, the exquisite dessert would've been hers, fair and square. But…she _wasn't_ here yet, so if Lucretia simply decided to seize the moment-

Successfully radiating an air of absolute disinterest to anyone who might be watching, Lucretia put out a fleshly hand possessing a wedding ring with a diamond big enough to choke a horse, and she laid the tip of her manicured fingernail upon the rim of the tray. Instead of resting directly upon the tablecloth, this tray was attached to a lower base, allowing the entire tray to revolve around its axis. With a nonchalant push, Lucretia gently turned the tray around in a half-circle, until that lovely, lovely cake was now in front of herself-

"Cheating again, Retty?"

Even though she'd been taken completely by surprise, a true Englishwoman never lost her nerve. Pulling back her hand while directing a truly innocent stare across the table at the sardonic, well-bred lady now standing behind the chair there, Lucretia cooed to her cousin, "Why, whatever do you mean, Cassie?"

Rolling her eyes in utter exasperation, the newcomer briskly laid down her purse upon the table, and she just as quickly took her seat. Then, the other woman the same age as Lucretia leaned across the table to put _her_ finger on the rim of the tray. With a swift, curving motion of her hand, Cassiopeia Black restored the tray to its original position, all while scathingly declaring, "That didn't work when you were eight years old, so it's hardly likely to work now."

Instead of responding to this, Lucretia managed to maintain a demure silence, though she sadly regarded the luscious cake now far out of reach. Eyeing someone she'd well known ever since the day they'd been christened together in their birth year of 1915, Cassiopeia smothered a rueful sigh, and she decided to allow her undeserving cousin a minor favor. In a more forgiving tone, the sharp-eyed woman suggest, "Retty, why don't you be mother?"

Brightening up at those words, Lucretia reached out for the teapot, and a few moments later, both women were sipping from their filled cups. Looking over her drink, the more well-built of the pair noticed that Cassie was giving off an odd air of actual…triumph? Deciding in a flash that this called for some form of trivial payback in response to her cousin's recent shameful accusation of actual duplicity (well, yes, it was quite true, but her fellow Slytherin didn't have to be so _mean_ about it), Lucretia made sure to draw out the consumption of her tea. When she at last placed the empty cup upon the tablecloth, Arcturus Black's daughter noted from the corner of her eye an actual quiver of the teacup in the hands of the woman seated across, a clear sign of her eagerness to speak. Inwardly smirking with glee, Lucretia managed to reach out towards the plate of finger foods just when Cassiopeia was about to open her mouth.

The smaller woman abruptly closed her lips with a near-audible snap, glowering at seeing how slowly that oversized cow over there was nibbling at her cucumber sandwich. The sister of Pollux Black had been planning for the last hour just how she'd reveal the scandalous news to her cousin, and now it was almost like Retty was using the etiquette they'd both been taught growing up, to never speak to someone with their mouth full- A blazing suspicion now flashed into life inside Cassiopeia's mind, followed by a genuinely dangerous look on this same woman's face.

Knowing she'd pushed her luck as far as it could go, particularly when Cassie began to meaningfully eye the knife of her table setting, Lucretia daintily swallowed the remnants of her sandwich, and after clearing her throat, she managed an offhand, "So, what's new with you, darling?"

Giving her cousin a genuinely cool glance to signify this would be remembered and one day avenged, Cassiopeia eventually said in a steady voice that changed during her statement into actual excitement, "I've been doing some…investigating, for the first time in _years!_"

Lucretia now closed her eyes in real pain. What Cassie called 'investigating', the rest of the wincing Black family had in the past a habit of wearily referring to this woman's zealous searching through wizarding society for answers to her inquiries as 'snooping, accompanied by the occasional corpse.' It was really odd how people happened to regularly die around Cassiopeia Black while that witch was looking for solutions to mysteries that she'd come across, as if that magical woman carried some sort of curse or hex laid upon herself. It'd probably been the sole reason why her cousin had never gotten married, bitterly contemplated the other witch, given that any suitor usually became murdered in some bizarre fashion soon enough. Eventually, any sensible wizard seeing Cassie approach them simply fled for their very lives. Fortunately, this Black relation had seemingly given up her fatal endeavors decades before - except from what she'd just said, it was starting all over again.

Cracking open an eyelid to balefully glare across the table, Lucretia growled at her offended cousin, "All right, what's the body count so far?"

"It's nothing like that!" vigorously protested Cassiopeia. At seeing her cousin's incredulous stare of pure disbelief, the smaller witch grumpily continued, "The idea just didn't occur to me, until a few hours after our encounter with Sirius when he revealed himself to us. I realize he had a lot to talk about, which might be why he skipped over something in particular."

Bracing herself, Lucretia had to ask: "And that was…?"

Her intent eyes bright in a wrinkled face, Cassiopeia declared, "How exactly did James and Lily's son wind up in the custody of those horrible muggles - either back in Sirius' first life, or right now?"

"What?" Lucretia frowned across the table at her cousin. Beginning to seriously mull it over, Lucretia offered in a somewhat dubious tone, "Ah, Sirius said something about that little boy being sent to live with his aunt on his mother's side, correct?"

For some reason, that innocent remark turned Cassiopeia Black's features iron-hard. She now spoke in a very deadly voice, one that Lucretia thankfully hadn't heard in years, "_I_ happen to be his great-aunt through a direct line of descent from my sister Dorea's marriage to Charlus Potter. Why wasn't I contacted, ever? In fact, why hasn't anyone who might've been mentioned in James and Lily's will as possible custodians for their child spoken about this? Most important of all - why hasn't the Potter will been read? Did people just _forget_ all about it?"

Gaping at her relation's barrage of questions, Lucretia tried to think of answers to these, only to mentally come up blank - but in such a forgetful way that for the first time ever, she had an actual sense of being…manipulated. Lucretia stared in utter horror at the other witch's furious countenance, to at last fearfully exclaim, "Cassie, was I under a spell?"

"We all were," snarled Cassiopeia. This woman grimly went on to explain to an apprehensive Lucretia, "One of the most subtle and powerful Confundus charms I've ever come across, capable of affecting the entire wizarding world. Its sole purpose seems to be the misdirection of anyone who might wonder about the guardianship of Harry James Potter, with a minor side effect of keeping the Potters' will unread. Nobody will even _think_ this to be strange, and it'll stay that way, for years if necessary."

Lucretia wonderingly said, "But, but- I can remember it now! Why?" She stared at her stern cousin, to then suddenly realize, "You broke the spell, didn't you?"

Cassiopeia merely shrugged, looking a bit rueful. "Just like everyone else, I was under the Confundus' influence, until Sirius talked to us. I'm not sure if something happened then, to weaken the spell on me. Perhaps Sirius himself was immune to it due to being from another time, or if his years of being mentally tortured in Azkaban altered his mind for him to fight it off. It's also unclear how this protection transferred to me, if it ever did."

Nervously rubbing at her forehead, Lucretia commented, "It feels like it just jumped over to me, the transferring protection you said. Is everybody else going to remember, too?"

"Absolutely not!" snapped Cassiopeia. She resignedly went on at her cousin's uncomprehending look. "Right after I began thinking of how strange nobody remembered James' will and how it must've laid out who was to take care of young Harry should his parents die…" Unexpectedly trailing off in her statement, both of the mature woman at the dining room table had their faces stiffen in pain and grief as they remembered a young couple who'd passed away a mere few weeks ago.

At last clearing her throat, Cassiopeia reluctantly went on. "I knew I had to be extremely careful about it all, trying to find out what was going on. If nothing else, Sirius had to be protected, which was why I, er, neglected to tell the dear boy my next step." Witnessing the appalled look appear on her cousin's face over this last, a very irritated witch grumbled, "Retty, I've got a great deal of practice in keeping secrets. Nobody would've found out about anything - Sirius, my search for answers, what have you."

Leaning forward in clear interest, Lucretia sufficiently fought down her disapproval to inquire, "So, what'd you do?"

Relaxing in her chair, Cassiopeia answered, "I went to the Ministry of Magic, of course, and looked for the Potter will. Found it, too. Not only that, I discovered who'd tampered with it, casting the Confundus charm in the first place."

"It was Dumbledore," said Lucretia in a very flat voice.

Locking eyes with her cousin, Cassiopeia bleakly nodded, once.

There was quiet among the pair of witches for a few more moments, until Cassiopeia began her story again, this time in a rather sardonic tone. "Apparently, my…reputation there is still known. I couldn't get handed off fast enough to the next clerk in line, until I wound up in the office of the registrar of wills and other legal documents. Who was himself more than eager to let me look in the files while he took a lengthy lunch break, where I'm sure he spent the entire time praying I'd be gone when he got back. Not to mention everyone there probably self-obliviated themselves afterwards, just to be on the safe side." Calmly taking a sip of her tea, Cassiopeia sent a remarkably bland glance over this at her cousin's suffused face.

Going on before Lucretia could either explode with shame or burst into giggles, the smaller witch spoke, "I found the Potter will exactly where it should be, and you have to be in awe of the sheer arrogance of the only person who could've modified it without any suspicion whatsoever: the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, one Albus Dumbledore." Cassiopeia nodded at the growing outrage on Lucretia's countenance. "I read the will, and among other things, it said in no uncertain terms that Harry's muggle aunt and uncle were never to be given custody of him. After that, there was nothing to do but to leave the Ministry."

Her mouth dropping open at this abrupt conclusion to her cousin's story, Lucretia blurted out, "That's _all?_ Cassie, what about the will and Dumbledore and-"

Serenely interrupting, Cassiopeia ticked off her answers, "I couldn't do anything directly about the will. The Confundus spell was far too powerful for me to destroy, plus Dumbledore would've sensed this right away. Nor could I leave the Ministry with the will. There are too many protections on the whole building to prevent this. However…" Once more leaving her words hanging, Cassiopeia now began to have a very evil smile form upon her lips, as she gloated, "It never occupied to Dumbledore that someone might want to add something _more_ to the will. I cast the strongest shield I could manage against the Summoning charm on the will. Now, that old fraud can stand in the office and shout 'Accio!' until his voice gives out, and he'll never find it. Because, right after that, I hid the will in there."

A bewildered Lucretia asked, "Can't he just look for it-?"

Leaning back in her chair, Cassiopeia idly waved around at the dining room, "Retty, that office is at a minimum three times the size of this place, and it's stuffed solid to the ceiling with other wills and papers reaching back centuries. There are thousands, _tens _of thousands of legal documents in there. The only way to find the will now is to either use an army of clerks to physically search the whole place, which will still take years at the very least. Or, if you know exactly where it is. Which is just me, you in a few seconds, and Sirius when we go see him at Black Manor later this afternoon."

A very contented Lucretia Black now picked up her teacup, and she clinked it in an admiring salute to the other teacup held out by an equally satisfied Cassiopeia Black.

Across the dining room, the waitress customarily charged with serving the pair of ladies at their private table had her attention caught by this. Turning to her fellow server at her side, this younger woman cheerfully noted, "Aren't they a sweet couple? A proper pair of Queen Mums, they are."

* * *

Author's Note: The only time the named women presented in this story are depicted in the Harry Potter books and/or movies is when they're shown on the Black family tree tapestry in the house at 12 Grimmauld Place. After looking at the pictures in the Harry Potter Wiki, I suddenly had the inspiration of exactly which actresses should represent these ladies. What's more, given that J.K. Rowling herself demanded that only British actors could portray her characters, these women even qualified, both being born in London.

Lucretia Black is Elizabeth Taylor, and Cassiopeia Black is Angela Lansbury.


	13. Interlude Three

"Pollux, do you really think he can succeed?"

Hearing this from his companion seated across the room, who'd been silent for the last several minutes while staring into the flames of the library fireplace, caused the addressed wizard to pose his own incredulous question: "You're having doubts _now?_"

There was good reason for Pollux Black's astonishment, given that several weeks after the quiet presentation of Bellatrix's diary to the Ministry of Magic, the shockwaves of this circumspect gift were still rippling throughout the British wizarding world. Numerous high-ranking members of the oldest and most aristocratic Houses had been arrested and speedily convicted for their crimes committed while acting as Voldemort's Death Eaters. Any attempts by the defendants' lawyers to get their clients off by attacking the Ministry's cases had completely failed, all due to the evidence smugly presented by the prosecution as being unconditionally verifiable.

The uncompromising actions of Minister Bagnold, backed up by her zealous staff, had extended even to her own administration and closest acquaintances, as shown by the seizure of Bartemius Crouch Sr. right in the middle of this Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement illicitly freeing his son from Azkaban. Both Crouches were now serving lengthy sentences together in this prison. However, during the immense furor caused by this, the more level-headed of society noted that the Ministry could still act with leniency, as seen by Millicent Bagnold personally authorizing the confining of Mrs. Crouch to permanent house arrest, rather than this dying woman being sent for the remainder of her short life to the grim confines of Azkaban. Something that both males of the Crouch family had been perfectly fine with, after all.

During all this, the placing of Bellatrix Black herself back into the custody of her family had also led to a great deal of frenzied gossip among the upper crust, who instantly suspected some kind of arrangement had been worked out between the Ministry and the Blacks. A most unhelpful silence had met any questions excitedly directed by the media towards the latter two groups. On the other hand, a surprise interview by several specialists in mental conditions from St. Mungo's, all authorized by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to fully disclose the current situation of their most recent patient, had quieted everyone's fears of that terrifying Death Eater ever recovering from her permanent incapacitation.

Any further attempts to directly contact the Black family had been met with a very dignified attitude of total calm, which still managed to express an ominous undertone that if people didn't soon cease and desist in their pestering, they'd speedily come to truly regret it. In the meantime, through numerous third parties, Arcturus and Pollux Black had been discreetly buying up the assets and debts put on the market by relatives of convicted Death Eaters desperate for some ready money to support their families while their main wage-earner was rotting in Azkaban. By now, well over half of the wizarding world's kith and kin who belonged to what was referred as the other 'dark' Houses were thoroughly under the financial thumb of two very shrewd elderly men.

Nobody had ever said that the Blacks were _nice._

Which might have something to do with Arcturus Black mournfully sighing in the other armchair of the sitting room, as they sipped an post-dinner brandy together. After a few more moments of quiet, while the last exasperated query from Pollux Black was actually hovering in the air, the former Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black tried to explain, "It's just that whenever I see Sirius here in Black Manor, I never know which of three people to expect. One's the young hellion we both watched grow up, muggle machinery crazy and obsessed with pranks and couldn't stomach his nearest family. But, he was still a boy who found true friends and grew to love them."

Nodding thoughtfully, Pollux tried an expectant grunt in hopes of encouraging his cousin to speak further. Indeed, Arcturus soon continued, "And then, there's him at present. A grown man, purposeful, dedicated, cunning, ruthless - all the quantities possessed in abundance which will allow him to lead our house once more to its proper place in the sun."

Watching the older wizard from the corner of his eye, Pollux saw Arcturus lapse back into brooding silence, seemingly not willing to expand upon his description. This wouldn't do at all, so Pollux noisily cleared his throat while turning his head to send towards the other man a rather impatient look. Arcturus returned a much more somber glance, to then reluctantly conclude, "Lastly, there's the third and thankfully rarest appearance, of somebody who has eyes exactly like every one of those wretched souls we rescued from Birkenau thirty-five years ago, Pollux."

Gagging from the sour bile that'd just risen up in his throat, Pollux twisted his head away, fixing an haunted gaze upon the flickering flames in the fireplace. An instant later, he realized his mistake, as horrific memories then overwhelmed this wizard.

_An ordinary brick building, set off in its own patch of birch woods, which had many tracks leading into the structure, but only one or two leaving…_

_An enormous pile of decaying corpses in an otherwise bare room, consisting of intermingled men and women and children, all with various bodily organs surgically removed in an effort to locate the source of their magic…_

_The endless moments spent screaming "Avdra Kedavra!" so loudly he'd lost his voice before all the camp guards and medical orderlies had been slaughtered…_

A filled glass was roughly thrust into his hands, and Pollux hurriedly drained it to the very dregs, with his entire body afterwards shuddering in reaction only in part due to the warm bite of the brandy.

"Damn you, Arcturus," Pollux hoarsely croaked to the aged man standing before his chair. "It took me forever to stop having the nightmares, just like you, and now you're bringing them back simply to make a point?"

His wrinkled face grim, Arcturus unsympathetically snapped to his fellow wizarding commando of so many years ago, "I merely wanted to remind you of how extraordinary Sirius is, even though it's not usually all that evident! He survived Azkaban for twelve years, which had to permanently mark him! I'm not actually worried about him succeeding in what he's planning; I'm far more worried about the cost to our Sirius, and to everyone else around him."

His shoulders slumping slightly, Arcturus shuffled back to his chair, and he wearily sank down into this seat. Absently holding onto his empty glass, Pollux felt his recent ire change into real concern, as he regarded the other wizard over a decade older than him. Catching his companion's stare, Arcturus locked his own flat gaze with his cousin, to then tonelessly remind Pollux, "Remember the whole business with Bellatrix, right after we were notified of her condition? I still don't know what disturbs me the most, how quickly Sirius then came up with his plan, or how cold-bloodedly he carried it out."

Grimacing slightly, Pollux glanced down at the glass he was still gripping, and the wizard began to moodily twirl the small tumbler in his fingers, watching how the last remaining drop of brandy there rolled around the inner lower edge. Despite it all, Pollux had to agree with Arcturus. It'd been one of the most unnerving incidents he'd ever witnessed in his life, and that included all of the former unpleasantness of Grindelwald's conflict.

* * *

Several weeks ago, immediately after the departing nurse had solicitously left them in the most private room of the restricted section of St. Mungo's, the pair of elderly gentlemen who'd requested some time alone with their comatose grandchild had expertly set up the strongest cloaking wards possible around the entire space. Calling on their spell-casting skills honed in several harsh years of utmost magical combat, both wizards were supremely confident _nobody_ could or would detect from the outside what was going to next happen in the room.

A quick magical message later, Kreacher had effortlessly apparated into the hospital room, bringing along with him his master. Sirius Black had given one impassive glance towards the slack, lifeless face of Bellatrix Black where this young woman laid limply upon her bed, her features almost as pale as the sheets which covered the rest of her body below the chin. Then, stepping forward, the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black placed upon Bellatrix's barely breathing upper torso, directly above her heart, a small metal chest.

Kneeling by the side of the bed, Sirius also dug into the pockets of his robe at the same time, pulling out two small objects from the inside of this at the moment his knees hit the floor. It was easy enough for Sirius in his position to also add a tiny but razor-sharp silver knife and an Ever-Inked Quill onto Bellatrix's lower body, just beyond the yet-unclaimed dwarvenwerk chest.

Kreacher was ready to begin. Squeezing past Sirius to as well stand by the bed, the old house-elf laid a gnarled palm upon Bellatrix's forehead, and Kreacher's bulging eyes closed as he called up the magic this faithful being had used for centuries to serve the House of Black. This very same ancient family had for that entire time also passed on their own magic to their servant in return to sustain him, making it virtually impossible for any outsider to distinguish between a spell cast by a member of the Black clan and one performed by the house-elf. This didn't mean Sirius Black would refrain from making absolutely _sure_ about this.

Watching in horrified fascination from their seats at the back of the hospital room, Arcturus and Pollux witnessed how an insensible young woman jerkily brought out her arms from under the bedsheets, all while her limbs were being manipulated by Kreacher's magic. A faint frown then developed upon the house-elf's ugly face, causing him to open his eyes a fraction to peer at a specific part of Bellatrix's body. Slim female fingers fumbled past the dwarvenwerk chest, until they successfully grasped and lifted up the silver knife. Not a single flicker of pain disturbed Bellatrix's slack features when a quick jab of the knifepoint brought forth a single drop of bright red blood from her other hand. This same part of her body was brought back to be held over the top of the magical chest, until this small bead of liquid life broke free, to fall through the air for a few inches until it struck the top of the chest, directly upon the familiar coat of arms engraved there. Instantly, the drop of blood was absorbed into the chest.

Both grandfathers then simultaneously cringed at the grating "Toujours pur" magically forced from Bellatrix's lungs and throat and mouth and lips. Arcturus and Pollux observed sickly how the top of the dwarvenwerk chest now swung up and back, revealing what was ready inside for its newest possessor: a small bound book having several dozen pages, all of these now totally blank.

At least, up to the moment when a feminine hand holding a quill then wrote with a sure fashion upon the very first page of the diary the words which when translated into English set forth the following: _Bellatrix Black Made Me_

And given all the requirements of the spell laid upon the chest had been perfectly adhered to, in that nothing untruthful could be written by its owner upon what was contained inside the chest with its dwarf runes of veracity embedded into the very metal, this proud statement of creation remained intact when the quill lifted away from the paper.

An instant later, that finished sheet had been lifted over by an unspoken casting, and during this Kreacher laid his other palm against Sirius' own forehead. In Bellatrix's hand, the quill descended once more, and the feathered pen began to write again, this time much faster than a human wrist could normally bear.

Sirius Black had perhaps twelve years of detailed memories waiting to be inscribed in the diary. He wasn't sure exactly, given there hadn't been any calendars around to tell him just when his fellow cellmates in Azkaban in the same prison level, Death Eaters one and all, had began to reveal their crimes. Nor also when the torturous visits of the Dementors had at last driven these other convicts into gibbering madness.

At first, boasting and bragging and jeering voices from evil men and women had rung loudly through the dank corridors of Azkaban, battering upon the ears and soul of the only innocent person there. _That_ had particularly tickled the sadistic fancy of the rest of the prisoners there, who knew quite well whatever other offenses Sirius Black might have committed, he'd never been a follower of Voldemort. Bellatrix Lestrange had been particularly scathing about it, gleefully taunting from her own cell her cousin's total stupidity of joining the Order of the Phoenix and fighting against her Dark Lord and his adherents, and still winding up here in captivity with them.

The only thing which had interrupted dear Bella's gloating descriptions of the atrocities she'd done to wizards, witches, muggles, disloyal Death Eaters, and anyone else her master had sent this young woman against was the time her husband Rodolphus and his brother Rabastan had enjoyed as much describing exactly what _they'd_ done to the newest member of their twisted family during the honeymoon. A nice period of breaking-in by the brothers had ensured Bellatrix would be in the proper frame of mind to join up with Voldemort. What had made Sirius retch in his cell was not just how his cousin had grudgingly confirmed everything, but the increasingly-insane female had in the end become devotedly loyal to this monster.

It was all repeated again and again, with nobody in their cells having anything else to do. The Death Eaters even actually became jealous about their vile deeds. Each soon tried to top the others with the specific details of their wrongdoings, but they also shouted down and otherwise mocked anyone else of their number lying about themselves and their gruesome deeds. As strange as it might seem, the truth of what had been done, however dreadful, could not be gainsaid.

In the hospital room, the diary soon became filled nearly to the end of the events in Bellatrix's life, just before the occasion of Voldemort's downfall and her imprisonment. Every word of it was impeccably accurate from someone who'd been there throughout it all and done exactly what she claimed, telling it all to the man despairingly listening from his Azkaban chamber. Only one thing was left out, but this was due to a simple fact which a young woman couldn't have possibly known about it at the time she was supposed to be putting pen to paper. That Peter Pettigrew was a Death Eater had been contemptuously confirmed by the Dark Lord's lieutenant, but Bellatrix was honestly surprised while in Azkaban when Sirius had shouted to her how this Animagus had treacherously informed his master of the location of the Potters.

This meant Sirius couldn't be cleared of his supposed betrayal of his friends when the diary was finally presented to Minister Bagnold. It would've looked rather odd if Bellatrix had claimed in her journal that her cousin wasn't a Death Eater; almost as incongruous as writing down in it the information that Albus Dumbledore wasn't one, either. Her mention of Pettigrew as a member of Voldemort's forces would certainly discomfit a good number of people in the Ministry of Magic, but given this man was already presumed dead, just like Sirius himself, it meant the whole awkward situation would probably be hastily swept under the nearest rug. Having presented in absentia an Order of Merlin to a proven Death Eater wasn't a beneficial career-builder for _any_ politician.

Nor could Sirius show up again in the wizarding world, seemingly returned from a watery grave, and tell all. Assuming he wasn't hit by a Killing Curse on sight by the first Auror to spot him, there was also the delicate matter of several Azkaban prison guards who'd become missing in action during the ferryboat trip taking a sentenced felon to the wizarding world's grimmest penitentiary. With this in mind, nobody in authority would even bother listening to something so ridiculous as a transformed rat about to be adopted as a pet by a certain red-haired family in, say, a couple of years at the most. Despite all the backing of his powerful family, Sirius Orion Black would unquestionably be chucked without further ado through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, so quickly that his feet wouldn't hit the ground during his execution.

He didn't need to do that all over again.

Still, Sirius was uncomfortably aware of the priceless information he possessed about the remnants of Voldemort's army, that indisputably _had_ to be disseminated as quickly as possible to those who could make the best use of it. Above all, the powers that be also needed to be absolutely convinced about the legitimacy of their unexpected windfall. It was true that Arcturus Black and Pollux Black were jointly respected for their previous service during Grindelwald's war (even if nobody was actually sure of what they'd done). Yet, in spite of this, the very second these elderly men tried to pass onto the Ministry such knowledge they'd acquired first-hand from Sirius, the initial and most difficult question to be sternly asked of them both would be: how could the Black family possibly know about what they were presently trying to convince the Ministry of Magic?

Even Sirius had to admit the most obvious conclusion to be drawn concerning the sudden disclosure of every Death Eater secret in existence by two very powerful wizards was that, just like Bellatrix Lestrange and Regulus Black and what's-his-name, the one who drowned, the older generation of Blacks had also been part of Lord Voldemort's supporters. And now that their repulsive leader had been destroyed by Harry Potter (hurrah!), those contemptible gaffers were falling over themselves to sell out their fellow criminals and get off scot-free.

Like hell. He really _would_ jump through the Veil again, this time dressed up as a circus clown, rather than put his granddas through that.

However…there was someone who obviously couldn't deny anything claimed to have been written by her, and Padfoot had absolutely no compunction in ruthlessly using Bellatrix, whatever her current condition and his own responsibility for this, in order to make up the merest fraction possible for her crimes. Plus, after an early lifetime spent growing up in Black Manor, Sirius Black already knew about the dwarvenwerk chests and their nature, though he'd never been particularly interested in keeping a diary himself. It'd all come together at once in his mind, to be then explained to a pair of disbelieving listeners.

* * *

Several weeks later, where they were seated together in the library, the men there glumly stared ahead in the distance while lost in their recent memories of a seamless plot to successfully pass onto the Ministry of Magic a Death Eater's diary which managed to be both completely authentic and an absolute fake.

"You think he's turning dark, don't you, Arcturus?" was at last gently asked by Pollux looking over at his disheartened cousin huddled in his chair.

"I fear so," Arcturus sadly nodded. "It was certainly effective, as can be seen by the latest Daily Prophet, but what Sirius did… Callous isn't exactly the word for it, but I don't know otherwise how you'd call it."

Pollux stayed quiet, as another memory now arose in his mind, one of the few that had allowed him to keep his own sanity after their raid upon a concentration camp decades before.

_Looking over a ghastly landscape of the dead and dying, he'd been about to end his position as a rear guard and join the other commandos in at last getting out of here. A motion had caught his eye, of two former muggle prisoners who'd taken the opportunity of the chaos to crawl past the now-destroyed barbed wire fence that had previously marked the death line, only to have the last of their strength ebb in a sad accomplishment of managing to die a few feet further on in freedom. One of the skeletal figures lying on the ground had already perished, but his (or her; there was nothing about the ruined bodies to reveal the sex of either) companion had managed to tug free a scrap of their filthy pajamas. Dipping it into a small puddle nearby, this person was using their very final seconds of life to tenderly wash the face of someone they'd shared Hell with together._

Ignoring the tears streaming down his face, Pollux remembered something else. How in the hospital room, right after everything had been collected and all traces of their presence had been eradicated, Sirius Black had paused to stare at his inert cousin still lying vulnerably in her bed. Shifting in his arms the now-sealed dwarvenwerk chest containing its completed diary, the wizard had reached out with a hand to gently stroke once with his fingertips the cheek of Bellatrix Black. Stepping away without looking at all where his grandfathers were, the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had then given them both a direct order on what they were to ask of the Ministry of Magic. An instant later, Sirius and Kreacher had vanished from St. Mungo's.

In a very quiet voice, Pollux Black told his own cousin, "Sirius still has mercy in him, Arcturus. _That_ must not be forgotten."

After a short while, an accepting sigh came from the older wizard, along with a cautious note of hope now in there. "I believe you, Pollux. Still…when I encountered Sirius earlier today when he was leaving Black Manor on business - suitably disguised, of course - he said he was going to look up an old school chum. Our grandson didn't seem happy about this, at _all."_


	14. Chapter 11

The habitués of the Flayed Unicorn, unquestionably the seediest pub in the whole of Knockturn Alley, didn't do their drinking in this hovel of a tavern for the place's superb vintages, exquisite cuisine, or witty repartee between its patrons.

No, they went there because people bloody well left you alone.

In return, _you_ were expected to totally ignore anything at all occurring around yourself inside the ramshackle building, up to and including a convivial trio at the bar consisting of Voldemort, a Dementor, and the Ghastly Hag of Midnight Marsh (from a rather gruesome wizarding children's bedtime story), all having a friendly dram together.

Which meant nobody there even looked up from their grimy mugs of ale when a messenger owl flew inside, through the circular hole cut in the front wall up near the roof for this very purpose. Swooping down to land onto the table in the furthest, gloomiest corner of the pub, the owl impatiently held out its leg with a note attached there. A few moments later, its task done, the bird looked around at the decrepit surroundings with an actual disdainful expression upon its feathered features. Taking off with a flutter of wings, this owl speedily disappeared through the opening, flying past the grisly sign outside symbolizing the pub's unsettling name.

Nobody paid any attention to _that,_ too.

Hidden in his corner, Severus Snape felt a rare flicker of amusement inside his mind. He'd never thought it feasible for something with a beak to be able to sneer, but the owl had in fact managed this while giving its implicit opinion of where the bird's latest message had taken itself. Speaking of messages…

His pallid face tightening in utter suspicion, Snape beadily eyed the innocent-seeming note he'd removed with his fingers protected by the cloth of his robes. Bringing out his wand, the wizard muttered several cantrips while expertly flicking this stick of wood in a variety of gestures, all aimed at the still-folded note. Nothing untoward occurred, but Snape wasn't yet satisfied. Laying his wand down upon the table by the note, the man now reached into an inner robe pocket, to produce a tiny metal box. Flicking up the lid of the box with his smallest fingernail, this revealed a half-dozen miniature glass vials, all snugly nestled in their hollows carved in the interior of the box.

A few minutes' quick work of letting a single drop of liquid from every vial fall onto the top of the note thankfully resulted in no trace being shown of any inimical potion, toxin, or poison permeating this piece of paper. At last reasonably sure this wasn't some sort of assassination attempt, Snape put away the box of detector potions, took hold of his wand again, and used it to open the note, laying it out on the table face upwards. Leaning away until his back pressed against the filthy wall, Snape nevertheless cautiously held his breath as he finally read the note.

When you were the last free Death Eater in Britain, there was no such thing as excessive safety measures.

His appraising gaze eventually reached the bottom of the written note to the signature there, and Snape then continued to blankly stare down at the note. This lasted long enough for his face to turn slightly blue until he remembered to breath again.

Someone…wanted him to meet them for a _job interview?_

Mistrustfully glancing around the pub's slovenly interior, Severus Snape felt his total paranoia ratchet up a few more levels, which he'd previously thought impossible. But then, as the saying goes even in the wizarding world, it's not paranoia when they're really out to get you.

For this man in his midnight-dark robes which perfectly matched the shadows he was lurking inside, the pronoun 'they' in the above aphorism could be replaced by 'everybody' and still be perfectly accurate.

* * *

It'd all begun a few weeks after the unbelievable events which had resulted in the downfall of the Dark Lord. Trying to get over his acute depression, Snape had been going around in Diagon Alley on Hogwarts business, searching for rare ingredients to be used in his school potions work. While coming out of one store, he'd abruptly found himself staring into the wrong end of three wands, all steadily pointed right at his face. From the middle wizard of the trio standing there in their Auror robes, this stern-looking man in his late thirties then inquired in a very cold voice, "Are you Severus Snape?"

Not daring to move a muscle, this addressed wizard croaked from his suddenly dry throat a truthful affirmation. As if they'd practiced for weeks their next actions, the middle wizard seemingly in charge kept his wand aimed directly between Snape's eyes, while his companions on either side of him stepped forward, both also holding their wands ready. The Auror on their detainee's left side halted, and without any warning at all, this wizarding police officer thrust forward his left hand to grip the sleeve of Snape's robe and he forcefully yanked up the cloth.

Everyone there, including all those in the small crowd at that point in Diagon Alley which had gathered at a discreet distance to watch, now saw upon Snape's revealed inner left forearm the notorious Dark Mark of a full-fledged Death Eater. From the crowd came a savage rumble, and many there began to develop a very ugly glint in their eyes. However, before things could actually turn nasty, the head Auror spoke up in a clear, carrying tone, "Severus Snape, you were provisionally identified as a Death Eater, and this has now been confirmed. Consider yourself from this moment on to be under arrest and in the custody of the Ministry of Magic. _Stupefy!_"

Blackness overwhelmed an incredulous wizard.

Without knowing how long he'd been unconscious, Snape woke up in some sort of holding cell with its walls, ceiling, and floor painted dead white and which was absolutely bare save for the stone platform he was uncomfortably lying upon, flat on his back. Shakily arising to sit on the edge of the platform, this man further discovered he was now dressed in a plain grey prisoner's robe, plus his persistent physical discomforts indicated he'd sometime previously been given an obsessively thorough bodily search. In _every_ cavity, and by the feel of it, someone had been looking for gold in there.

Just as he was bitterly contemplating this, Snape was hit by a Petrificus Totalus curse fired through one of the cell walls. Sitting utterly frozen upon the stone platform, the wizard now saw from out of the corner of an eye this same wall dissolve into thin air, exposing three more wizards in their Auror robes standing outside in a corridor. Before he could see more, the Aurors walked into the cell, and the wall magically reappeared.

Without a single word being spoken between themselves, the three Aurors smoothly went into action, just as if they'd recently had a great deal of experience at this. One of the guards kept his wand trained upon the immobile Potions Master despite the holder of this title being helpless while under the petrification spell. Not that Snape was paying any attention to this, since one of the other Aurors now came towards the stock-still Slytherin. Reaching into his robe, the approaching man brought out from there a small, unmarked green glass bottle clutched in his right hand. Stopping in front of Snape, the Auror briskly grabbed the other wizard's chin, pushed it down to open his mouth, and then poured inside there the entire contents of the bottle. Not wanting to choke on the liquid he'd been forcibly given, Snape hastily swallowed it all, as the potions expert also noted with dawning horror the very identifiable taste.

He'd just consumed something which would in a few seconds disclose whether or not Snape had earlier taken anything which might block the effects of the Veritaserum potion. If this had indeed happened, the latest potion wouldn't kill the Hogwarts professor, but Snape would certainly long for death over the next couple of hours, if only to stop the incredible agony.

Still remaining silent as they stared at the seated, immobile wizard, who could otherwise only send back a truly hateful glare at them all, the three Aurors patiently waited for a full minute - during which nothing at all transpired. At last, the oldest of the Auror trio nodded in calm satisfaction. After this signal, the potions Auror took out another small bottle from his robe, and he repeated his dosage of Snape, but this time with merely three drops of liquid. This same wizard glumly recognized at once the newest taste in his mouth, helped along by the resulting numbness of his tongue, as nothing but Veritaserum itself.

The third Auror now took out his wand and used it to create two comfortable armchairs in front of Snape. This wizarding officer of the law sat down, followed by the potions Auror, who pulled from his capacious robe a sheet of parchment and a quill. Holding these writing implements ready, the Ministry of Magic bureaucrat watched his superior free the head of their latest Death Eater captive from the Petrificus Totalus curse. Already affected by the Veritaserum, a blankly staring Snape could do nothing but to wait for what would come next, as the guard still standing to one side continued to hold him at wandpoint.

Clearing his throat, the highest ranking of the three Aurors now said the first words spoken in the cell since an arrested wizard had woken up in there: "Are you Severus Snape?"

He was a Potions Master. He _knew_ not to even bother to try to resist speaking the absolute truth, which produced an instant, "Yes," from the seated man.

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"When did you become a Death Eater?"

"January 9, 1979."

And so it went, seemingly for hours. Every single unlawful thing Snape had done in his service for Lord Voldemort, not to mention whom else had been in that supreme evildoer's forces and what he'd seen them do and also heard them claim to have carried out. At the very end, Snape was in an actually fatalistic mood, knowing he'd convicted himself into a life sentence at Azkaban, at the very least. A second later, this wizard's defeated frame of mind had unexpectedly shifted into downright astonishment due to the next question:

"Are you a spy for Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes," straight away answered Snape in the same placid monotone he'd used throughout it all, which was a total contrast to his whirling thoughts. How was this even possible? Nobody knew about Snape's change of loyalties, except for himself and- _Dumbledore!_ He had to know Snape was here, wherever that was, and being interrogated! The Aurors must be checking on this!

Nothing showed in Snape's slack face or in his dull voice, but this wizard was now feeling a good deal better about things. He didn't even mind too much about revealing to the Auror's leading questions exactly why he'd betrayed Voldemort. A couple of minutes later, the grilling finally ended, with the recording Auror's parchment sheet completely filled. Both seated Aurors now wearily stood up, and Snape's interviewer glanced over at the guard with this wand out, and nodded.

"_Stupefy!_"

This time, when his mind shut down, Severus Snape was genuinely optimistic.

Which meant when he opened his eyes again and looked up into the grandfatherly gaze of Albus Dumbledore regarding him, Snape allowed a once-in-a-lifetime, ear-to-ear grin to appear upon his normally sour features. Quickly getting off his hard bed in the holding cell while the Headmaster of Hogwarts stepped back, Snape questioningly eyed the elderly wizard, who firmly shook his head. Dumbledore then glanced at a certain cell wall, which in response to this immediately disappeared. Giving a 'come-along' jerk of his head, the Order of the Phoenix's leader strode out of the cell, closely followed after by Snape.

An instant later, the Potions Master had to hastily come to a dead stop, lest he collide with Dumbledore's halted body. Peering over the older wizard's shoulder, Snape saw two women standing there a few yards further up the corridor.

Snape at once recognized the Minister of Magic herself, Millicent Bagnold. Though, he'd never before seen the other witch, who was now sending through her monocle a truly icy glower of contempt towards both of the Hogwarts wizards. Minister Bagnold's expression, on the other hand, was one of pure rage barely kept under control. This furious emotion was more than evident when the head of the wizarding world's government snarled at-

"Dumbledore, you'd be wise to definitely impress upon your creature that his pardon covers _only _his crimes up to now! I've told Madam Bones-" (a hand was angrily waved in the general direction of the other woman) "-that if any of her Aurors ever see the bloody bastard there commit the most minor misdemeanor possible outside Hogwarts, they're perfectly free to jump on him with both boots. I'll even give them a medal for it!"

"Now, Minister," soothingly started Dumbledore, "Please calm yourself. Severus has managed to redeem-"

The witch wearing a single eyeglass then gave an infinitesimal flick of her wrist, to instantly hold ready for action the wand there which had shot out from an arm holster. In her very menacing tone, the new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement growled, "That could be interpreted as interfering with an officer during the course of an Auror's duties. But then, as we like to say, just breathing towards one of us also qualifies, if we've had a really bad day. Like now."

For once showing his reputed wisdom, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, kept his mouth shut. Instead, this aged wizard hurriedly took out from a robe pocket a clumsily-patched sock, and he held it over his shoulder. Just as quickly, a fearful Severus Snape grabbed hold of the Portkey, and both men disappeared from the DMLE's jail level. Right before two very enraged women would have hit those bloody males with every excruciating hex they'd learned in a lifetime of magic.


	15. Chapter 12

Several hours later, a very thoughtful man walked down the Hogwarts corridor, on his way to the Slytherin quarters deep in this Scottish castle's dungeons. Severus Snape had a lot to think over, including the minor detail that it'd been several days since his arrest in Diagon Alley. During their recent conference in the Headmaster's office, a somewhat sheepish Albus Dumbledore reluctantly admitted that nobody had even noticed Snape's absence until the Potions Master failed to show up for his first class after the weekend.

Properly starting to feel quite annoyed, despite Dumbledore's quick assurance there'd been a genuinely good reason for this, Snape's irritation quickly changed into astonishment when he was shown the last few days' issues of the Daily Prophet. The pale-faced man then disbelievingly read in these newspapers about the wave of arrests done by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement throughout the whole of wizarding society. The Aurors had swept like an avenging army through places high and low, from manors of Noble and Most Ancient Houses to the worse slums of Knockturn Alley, unerringly detaining numerous people who were all later indisputably found to have been Death Eaters or secret supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

When Snape lifted his head to incredulously regard a grave Dumbledore seated behind his desk, the elderly wizard then enlightened his spy exactly how this had occurred. Unlike the public, who had to settle for the Daily Prophet's vague claims of 'information received by the authorities', the Chief Warlock of the Wizengmot had been informed by Minister Bagnold of the secrets contained in Bellatrix Lestrange's diary. Well _after_ after the DMLE's arrests had begun, which explained why Snape had also been taken into custody. It was almost as if the Minister of Magic didn't trust Dumbledore at all…

Snape managed then to stifle his supremely cynical feelings over how hurt the Headmaster actually looked when this wizard complained about this disrespectful action by Madam Bagnold. Still, the Hogwarts professor had to confess to the older man he'd known nothing whatsoever about his fellow Death Eater's diary. Nor had anyone else, including obviously Voldemort himself, since that dark wizard would've instantly executed Bellatrix over such a clear breach of security concerning her master's plans and adherents. The latter of which naturally included a certain potions expert currently teaching at Hogwarts, who at that moment was also passing vital information onto Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Something which fortunately Bellatrix had never learned, much less put down in her diary, since she'd surely have slaughtered Severus Snape on the spot for this.

Solemnly nodding in his acceptance of Snape's admission, Dumbledore now told the intent wizard in his chair across the room of what had happened next. Realizing what Snape's absence might mean, the Headmaster had quickly contacted the Ministry to ask if they'd taken his teacher in custody. A very suspicious reply as to exactly why such a well-known figure wanted to know about this produced an infuriating delay, until an exasperated Dumbledore went directly to the office of the new head of the DMLE. Director Amelia Bones, a truly respected figure in the government, warily confirmed to the notable visitor in her workplace that one Severus Snape was indeed presently being detained by her department.

Mere seconds later, an astonished Dumbledore heard a firm "No!" for his dignified request that Snape be discreetly released without any further ado. Madam Bones unequivocally refused to discharge any prisoner simply on her guest's say-so, not when the detainee was obviously a marked Death Eater. The woman was apparently prepared to be stubborn about it, despite the clear risks of offending someone with the power and authority which Dumbledore possessed. Feeling quite put out, Dumbledore sighed sorrowfully in his best inducing-guilt fashion, which only seemed to bounce off the former Auror's set expression, and then the wizard proposed they speak to her superior. Now, please.

Five minutes later, _another_ "No!" once more disturbed the Headmaster's equanimity. Particularly when Minister Bagnold added several rather unladylike words over what she'd been asked for, given this politician couldn't understand what all the fuss was about for somebody she'd heard about only recently. This Snape fellow seemed to have been merely a low-ranking member of Voldemort's forces, being nobody of importance. Save for one very odd fact, in that _Professor_ Snape had been employed at Hogwarts for the last several years, teaching Potions classes to the students. All while being a confirmed Death Eater. Did Dumbledore have anything to say about this?

For the first time in decades, the Headmaster found himself caught in a cleft stick. Desperately trying to get out of a difficult situation, Dumbledore dithered for several moments, until he seized upon something one of the pair of females in the office both glaring at him had said just before. What did Minister Bagnold mean, that Severus had been 'confirmed' as a Death Eater?

Albus had to actually use his clout as Chief Warlock before Bagnold reluctantly spoke about what she'd been presented with, the personal diary of Voldemort's most faithful servant, Bellatrix Lestrange herself. An amazed Dumbledore numbly listened to the particulars on this unexpected gift from the Black family, who'd evidently traded a dwarvenwerk chest and its contents for their incapacitated grandchild. From his own wide-ranging studies, the Headmaster knew about these magical chests, which meant the diary had to be genuine, and worse of all, completely truthful. If - no, when she'd done this - Bellatrix had written about Severus and his crimes committed at Voldemort's behest, every word of it would be legally admissible in court. Which absolutely could _not_ be allowed to happen!

This meant Dumbledore would have to do perhaps what he hated most of all in the world: revealing secrets. Oh, well, best to get it over with. Putting on his most serene expression, the Leader of the Light now calmly informed Minister Bagnold and Madam Bones about the existence of the organization known as the Order of the Phoenix, and how Severus Snape had surreptitiously spying for this small group of witches and wizards trying to defeat their evil foe once known as Tom Riddle and his own wicked followers.

At the end of this, it was difficult to distinguish which of the women were most furious about what they'd just heard. For the minister, Millicent Bagnold couldn't even begin to count the number of times Albus Dumbledore had broken, bent, evaded, and just plain ignored wizarding law in setting up his own private army of civilians, who had absolutely no legitimate authority to use force against other individuals. Yes, anyone could defend themselves against those who were attacking with deadly intent, but it didn't mean the attacked persons could arrest, detain, and punish their defeated opponents! Those specific powers were solely the lawful prerogatives of the duly elected government. Of which, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore was the most visible representative, yet he'd gone and set himself up as the head of an entirely independent militia, with seemingly no checks or balances on that…bloody…man!

Director Bones was seriously considering drawing her wand and setting on fire the long beard of the smug pillock sitting in his chair there. What was making this witch's fingers twitch most of all was how goddamn Dumbledore didn't appear to be the slightest bit apologetic about what he'd just said. Her boss was clearly about to explode any moment now, due to the prospect of having to deal with everything when the fewmets eventually hit the windmill. However, the head of the DMLE was naturally more concerned about her own extreme displeasure and the reasons for this.

For one, no matter how many stories there were that wizarding children heard while growing up about a single, unstoppable hero bloodlessly trouncing their magical adversaries, in real life, it was teams of Aurors acting together and doing good police work that finished the job of taking down the bad guys. Like any proper officer of the law, Madam Bones detested vigilantes. These overconfident, untrained sods thinking they could handle anything coming their way and being rewarded for it usually wound up getting themselves killed. Which wasn't actually that terrible, except the body count all too often included innocent bystanders, and even her own people, the Aurors who had to clean up the messes.

What's more, the exact point which was making her temples throb in fury, was how Dumbledore and his minions of their flaming-bird society must have had incidents when they'd learned from their supposed spy, this Snape, about a coming Death Eater attack or other atrocity. Only to be unable to effectively do anything about it, due to perhaps lack of numbers, inability to get there in time, or even stuck in their everyday jobs or activities! But did they ever inform, even anonymously, the DMLE about what they knew? Offhand, Amelia couldn't think of any such occasion.

At that very moment, her blood boiling in this woman's wrath, Amelia inwardly vowed to herself to investigate whether Dumbledore's personal group of wizards and witches had failed to respond to some certain events. Which were the Death Eaters' attacks upon the monocled director's own family. During these acts of violence, she'd lost her parents and brother, along with that sibling's wife and all but one of their children, leaving only an eighteen-month old Susan Bones now in Amelia's care. If this proved to be the case, then the DMLE's newest head was going to destroy Dumbledore and his pet spy, no matter what it took.

Carefully keeping her face blank with all the control she could muster, Amelia now listened to Minister Bagnold speaking toward the cause of both women's ire in an extremely cold voice: "Dumbledore, do you really think the Wizengamot won't learn of this? I'm going to personally-"

"There's really no need for that, Madam Minister," imperturbably interrupted the aged man. In the shocked pause this created, Dumbledore now neatly slipped in, "Once I leave this office, I shall immediately call an emergency session of the council under the secrecy protocols, and inform all there of what I've just told you. I'm positive they'll understand and approve of my actions, along with agreeing that it'd be best to keep everything confidential by declaring a gag order for everyone. In regards to that, I'll also ask the Wizengamot to grant a full pardon for Severus Snape in honor of his undercover activities as a Death Eater that daily put him at grave risk of a horrible death, but yet helped vanquish Voldemort in the end."

From her chair, Amelia savagely gritted, sounding exactly like rocks being crushed to powder, "Is this Wizengamot meeting going to be the full assembly, or just the minimum number possible for conducting valid business? If it's the latter, I supposed it'll simply be an incredible coincidence this quorum will definitely be made up of nobody but your most loyal and dependable supporters."

Not even bothering to respond to such a boorish comment, the elderly wizard stood up from his chair, courteously nodded to the fuming women in their seats, and he turned to leave-

"Dumbledore."

Halting in his tracks at the icy mention of his name, without any of his deserved honorifics accompanying this, the Headmaster swung around, patiently waiting for some kind of last-minute threat or warning, as was boringly usual during these sorts of confrontations.

Indeed, a livid Millicent now grimly stated, "I don't know whether this Snape person's already been questioned under Veritaserum, or not. If that bastard hasn't, he'll go to the top of the list to be next, or we'll do it all over again! Either way, everything your little Death Eater's done is going to be dragged out of him and gone over with a fine-toothed comb, before the sheep at the Wizengamot hand you everything you want. We _will_ be looking for any little thing at all to nail him that the pardon he doesn't deserve fails to cover. So, hopefully, you'll have to ask for one of Voldemort's criminals such a blanket exemption from punishment that even your staunchest devotees will choke on it!"

"Thank you for the advice, Madam Minister," blandly replied Dumbledore, with the only sign of possible vexation for this wizard being the sudden development of an intensive double-eye twinkle.

The instant her office door closed behind a man with far too many titles whom she was most decidedly _not_ going to escort outside, Millicent glared at her subordinate and snapped, "You heard me! Get down there and put your best people on it!"

Nodding vigorously, Amelia agreed, "I already know who to pick, ma'am," while at the same time drawing her wand to immediately apparate from the room, leaving the Minister of Magic alone in there. Breathing hard, Millicent sent a considering glower towards a certain spot in the office bookshelves along the far wall. At length, this woman grumpily shook her head. No, if what the politician feared actually came to pass, then she'd drown her sorrows, all while plotting dark revenge upon someone who'd seriously ruined her day.

* * *

After listening in genuine awe to it all, the first question an extremely worried Severus Snape posed after Dumbledore's story was, "So, my time as a Death Eater will supposedly remain secret? But too many people know about it now! I spent hours under Veritaserum-"

Shaking his head, Dumbledore confidently told his intent listener, "The Wizengamot's gag order won't allow any of what you said to be released to the media, and the Aurors' vows of secrecy concerning current cases will also prevent this from other Death Eater interrogations. As for Bagnold and Bones, I'll deal with them, if necessary."

Beginning to feel somewhat reassured, Snape still doubtfully mentioned, "A good number of people saw me being arrested in Diagon Alley, and my Dark Mark was exposed."

Lifting a bushy eyebrow, the Headmaster of Hogwarts coolly asked, "Did you recognize any of them?"

"Ah," started Snape, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Then, it's unlikely anyone there was personally familiar with you," dismissed Dumbledore. "At the time, you were just one of many Death Eaters being arrested during that day, so there's a good chance you'll never be identified. However, to make sure, I suggest you remain here at the castle for a while without venturing back to London or anywhere else in the wizarding world. Several months, at the most. After that, things will surely blow over and people will have forgotten, as they tend to do, in my experience."

Considering this, the Potions Master finally began to relax. Feeling a rare burst of gratitude, Snape profusely thanked a benevolent Dumbledore, and just before leaving the office, the younger man even accepted an offered lemon drop from the Headmaster. Sucking on the hard candy, the wizard in black was soon eagerly striding down the Hogwarts corridors towards the comforting surroundings of the Slytherin dungeons. Disappearing with a dramatic flourish of his robes into his lair, Snape was so relieved by his narrow escape from being sent to Azkaban, that even this professional paranoid failed to take into account a minor question which he really, really should have thought of long since:

If Voldemort was gone and the rest of the Death Eaters had been captured, then just why was Albus Dumbledore so keen to still protect Severus Snape?

* * *

Up in his castle tower office, a mature wizard felt every minute of his advanced years, as he stood by the room window, staring blankly at the calm waters of the lake by Hogwarts. There was all so much to _do,_ right now and in the future, and Dumbledore pessimistically hoped he was up to the task. Unfortunately, there was nobody else who could stop Tom Marvolo Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort, from returning.

Which he surely would, as Dumbledore had realized almost a month earlier in the ruins of the destroyed house at Godric's Hollow, standing among the bodies of a couple struck down by this evildoer, who then was somehow defeated by a little boy presently screaming in his crib. Looking with total horror at the lightning-shaped scar seeping with blood upon young Harry Potter's forehead, Dumbledore knew he was seeing for the first time in his life an actual horcrux.

In the Hogwarts office, a wizard's bleak mood then slowly changed from worried resolve into stern pride in himself. He far preferred to work with years-long plots and manipulations which might not conclude for decades, but for the following twenty-four hours back then, Dumbledore had swiftly and decisively acted. The first thing to do was to quickly muddle things so that nobody would ever have a clear account of exactly what had taken place during the remainder of this Halloween night. A hasty trip back to the castle put Harry into the care of Poppy Pomfrey, the resident nurse, along with his strictest instructions for the Mediwitch to stay utterly silent about her patient until he retrieved the child. Next, Dumbledore made multiple visits around the entire wizarding world, giving instructions to his followers which rapidly sent them off in various directions on different errands, and unable to effectively figure out what was going on.

The Headmaster allowed a slight smirk to appear upon his lined features at one very enjoyable memory, of apparating into the Daily Prophet offices and declaring the news of Voldemort's destruction and how it came to pass due to the Boy-Who-Lived. The resulting hysterical celebrations throughout every magical enclave in Britain had been more than enough to thoroughly sow confusion over the next couple of days. Wisely, Dumbledore had used this time to locate the Potter will in the Ministry of Magic and cast one of his best Confundus charms upon this legal document which would prevent anyone from wondering who now was deserving of custody for Harry Potter.

By then feeling more caught up in the excitement than he'd been since decades before when the Leader of the Light had finally defeated Grindelwald, Dumbledore already knew quite well what to do with this last son of the Potter family, thank you very much. And it _wasn't_ putting this horcrux-burdened child into the hands of Sirius Black, or indeed anyone else of the Black family.

As he continued recollecting the rushed events of several weeks past, Dumbledore shuddered in genuine revulsion while still standing before the window. Tom had been bad enough, coming straight out of a muggle orphanage into Hogwarts, completely without any family or friends. Yet, this young wizard had still managed to gather enough magical power and supporters to effectively threaten the wizarding world. Or, to put it more bluntly, _Dumbledore's_ domain!

Harry Potter, now… Already showing off a sufficient quantity of accidental magic which indicated he would be an extremely strong wizard from puberty on, having the glory of defeating Voldemort emblazoned upon his very brow, being the sole heir of the Potter fortune, and living with his horcrux in the bosom of one of the most ruthless and sinister Noble and Ancient Houses. Frankly, by the time that young man received his welcoming letter to Hogwarts, Dumbledore was gloomily certain it'd be a toss-up on whether Dark Lord Potter would even bother to wait until graduation before enslaving everyone.

Fortunately for all concerned, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was here. Giving a firm nod, this wizard in his place of power was supremely confident of eventual victory. After all, fate itself had intervened by removing Sirius Black, perhaps the one person who could've upset the older wizard's plans. A little nudge had covertly helped along that Black heir's confrontation with his former friend, and while the finish of their encounter had been a bit messier than Dumbledore had ever expected, it'd all ended rather satisfactorily, to be sure. A still-raving Sirius had been immediately sentenced to Azkaban, without a rather startled Headmaster even needing to do anything. Next came the most remarkable twist of all, when the ferryboat taking a man sentenced to a life term (which, knowing the prison's evil reputation, probably wouldn't be for more than a couple of years) then sank in a storm, taking with it the very last possibility of interference from the House of Black for once and all.

Earlier, Dumbledore had already arranged for Harry Potter to be placed with his muggle relatives. Yes, yes, he didn't need his Assistant Headmistress to tell him those people were a genuinely unpleasant family. That was the whole _point. _Some minor tinkering with the blood wards when the elderly wizard had previously placed these protective magical shields around the spotlessly-clean house would make sure the Dursleys continued to view their latest family member with actual disdain. By the time young Harry finally came to Hogwarts, this boy would be so grateful for any kindness from whomever he met that Dumbledore would be able to control, shape, and guide the lad into the proper course of action. Just exactly what this might be, the Headmaster wasn't for now prepared to guess, but it would certainly end in a day of reckoning for both Harry Potter and Tom Riddle, as given in the prophecy spoken by Sybil Trelawney years ago.

Well, until this took place, Dumbledore had, as he'd thought before, much to do. Luckily, he could now turn his attention away from one person in particular. Going back to his desk and seating himself there, this man then glanced across his office at the bookcase against the opposite wall, which held a number of mysterious metallic objects on this cabinet's shelves. The Headmaster was satisfied his magical sensors would continue for the next several years to check upon Harry Potter's safety at Privet Drive without the necessity of the elderly wizard to ever visit there. At present, even though Voldemort's Death Eaters had been almost entirely rounded up, there were still pureblood advocates seeking vengeance against the little boy who'd disposed of their leader. Other wizards and witches, though not actually inimical, would still do almost anything to get their hands on the Boy-Who-Lived. It all meant Albus Dumbledore would be carefully watched for some time, since he was probably the only person who could lead them to their young prize.

Fine, then. Let them watch, and eventually give up when they recognized the futility of this. He was going to be busy elsewhere, anyway: researching horcruxes (since Dumbledore was absolutely certain Tom had made more than one of these vile artifacts), managing his many responsibilities, and beginning the crafty maneuvers which would culminate with the magical world again knowing that the greatest wizard since Merlin himself was protecting them all.

Complacently reaching out to take from the candy tray and pop into his mouth a lemon drop, Dumbledore was reminded of how Severus had done the same thing just mere minutes ago. Without knowing it, the Potions Master was now one of the Headmaster's key pieces in the grand game between himself and Tom Riddle. That was why Dumbledore had earlier expended so much of his political capital in keeping this Death Eater out of Azkaban, even going so far as to make personal enemies of the Minister of Magic and the head of the DMLE. When Voldemort again returned, the first thing done by the Dark Lord would surely involve rebuilding his forces, including finding and bringing back into the fold those at-large followers who were still loyal to their master. Of course, Severus Snape would be one of these, claiming he'd stayed at Hogwarts to spy upon Dumbledore while waiting for the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

A very thin smile appeared upon Dumbledore's lips, as he sardonically observed inside his mind that even Severus' pardon would help in this, since Snape was quite capable of eventually convincing himself he was that important to the Headmaster. Which in turn would be passed onto Riddle, making the head of Slytherin House even more essential to Lord Voldemort. It was looking as if the coming contest would be truly stimulating…

Up in his office tower and down in his dungeon laboratory, two wizards were in all honesty sharing the exact same good mood of being at ease and very content.

This cozy feeling quickly ended the next morning.

* * *

Author's Note: In canon, the Order of the Phoenix was known to and affiliated with the Ministry of Magic during the First Wizarding War. Aurors at the time, such as Mad-Eye Moody and the Longbottoms, could also openly join the Order, apparently with the Ministry's approval. Here, in Sirius' second life, it's a bit different, which if he ever learns about it, this might cause him to wonder a bit about being in another dimension, or a different past, or some other possible explanation. Anyway, it's a little off-canon here, due to an actual canonical reason, this being Dumbledore's obsession with control and reluctance to disclose secrets. The Ministry of Magic never knew about the Order, and full members of the group were under magical oaths not to disclose it to anyone, even their families, unless they already knew of this.

I tried writing the above chapter to match the canon events in the First Wizarding War, but it didn't satisfy me, which is why things are different now. Tell me what you think!


	16. Chapter 13

The current procedure of delivering the daily newspapers had been worked out long before either by some previous Hogwards headmaster, or perhaps by the owls themselves (a distinct possibility, given how intelligent these magical beasts were). Conveying student and faculty mail was normally done throughout lunchtime in a graceful aerial ballet which consisted of numerous owls swooping over, around, and under each other while bringing letters and other written material or packages to the humans sitting down at their tables in the Great Hall of the immense building.

On the other hand, randomly distributing several hundred newspapers at once to the castle subscribers during breakfast risked actual mid-air collisions. So, every morning, a large stack of papers already sorted and folded was flooed to the owlery fireplace in the ancient structure from the Daily Prophet offices. The Hogwarts owls picked up their separate burdens, and they began heading towards the gathering place in the center of the castle. Flying in formation through the corridors and other passageways, the birds burst into the Great Hall from out of the holes cut in the back wall at opposite ends near the ceiling for this very purpose. Continuing their in-flight arrangement of two separate columns, both further divided into another pair of files, every owl flew straight towards the front of the enormous room over the center of the student tables, following the winged messenger ahead of them.

Just before running directly into the massive entrance doors, the double files would make a sharp U-turn. The outside file closest to the walls would turn to the right, and the inside file would also turn to the left, with all the birds then abruptly descending and heading directly back up the hall, now only a few feet above the heads of the students. One after the other, every owl would expertly drop the newspaper they were carrying into the ready hands of these young people. Right after this, the very last dozen or so owls in one file would wait until they were passing over the staff table to simultaneously let their burdens fall onto where the Hogwarts teachers were patiently expecting their own publications.

It was considered rather gauche at the school to miss catching your own paper, since it might land in your breakfast plate or onto someone else's bacon and eggs. Plus, judging by the truly irritated glare sent rearwards over its flapping wings by any owl whose pride in taking proper pains at their task had just been tarnished by some hairless ape's clumsiness, tomorrow's paper would surely be aimed and delivered at high speed directly at your skull.

All this meant that instead of anyone at the student and staff tables beginning to open and read their paper right then and there, the entire population of the Great Hall tended to optimistically wait until the whole ritual was over and done with. Nobody wanted to miss seeing someone lunge and fail to grab their newspaper, which occurred perhaps every week or so during the school year, followed by loud jeers from around the red-faced House member who'd bungled in front of everyone.

Today, however, when the very last owl flew out of sight through the holes cut in the Great Hall walls, it seemed to have been another completely successful delivery this morning. It resulted in the entire room of people then all at once opening up their newspapers, producing a loud rustling noise that quickly faded into absolute silence, as every single person in the room, from the youngest firstie to Albus Dumbledore himself, now stared in total shock at a gigantic headline:

HOGWARTS DEATH EATER!

Below these words and taking up the remainder of the Daily Prophet's front page was an animated wizarding photograph of a cringing Severus Snape being subdued by a stern Auror while another law enforcement officer efficiently yanked up the left sleeve of this detained Potions Master to show off an authentic Dark Mark magically branded onto Snape's forearm.

* * *

Millicent Bagnold, Minister for Magic of the British wizarding world, appeared to be placidly reading the first report of the day at her desk. On the contrary, this lady was instead pretending to do this while otherwise mentally counting down in her head. From the Hufflepuff's own memories of Hogwarts and that castle's cherished traditions, the school owls should have already delivered the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, which meant any minute now-

Across the room, the office fireplace flared into life, and in the next instant, the head of Albus Dumbledore emerged among the flames. The magical conflaguration in the fireplace now perfectly matched this elderly man's enraged expression, as he bellowed, "BAGNOLD, WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS?"

Calmly putting down her unread report, the witch sent a composed gaze towards her expected caller, as she stated in her mildest tone, "Good morning, Headmaster. If you don't mind, could you please be a bit clearer about what you just said?"

The shade of light puce which now appeared upon the aged wizard's countenance horribly clashed with the green flames, as Dumbledore further exploded, "You know very well what I'm talking about! There's no way you haven't seen today's Daily Prophet and its' illegal claims of Severus Snape as a Death Eater!"

"Illegal, Headmaster?" coolly replied Millicent, who was just barely managing to keep herself under control. Inwardly, she sternly reminded herself to wait until later to watch her memories in a handy pensieve and then unabashedly howl with laughter. The politician's attention was hastily brought back to the fireplace by Dumbledore's incensed rejoinder.

"Yes, illegal! There's no possible lawful way for the Prophet to have gotten the story in the first place, and even after this, the Wizengamot's gag order banned any press releases concerning Severus!"

Millicent allowed an somewhat sardonic look to flash over her face, as she said in a very dry voice, "That's strange. I said almost exactly the same thing just an hour ago, when I had a rather annoyed discussion here with the chief editor of the Prophet and that paper's lawyers. I believe you know from past experience their legal representatives, the partnership of Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell?"

Minister Bagnold's cheeks began to ache from the muscle stresses necessary to keep from grinning ear-to-ear as she watched the intense, appalled expression Dumbledore had suddenly developed at hearing this new development. Oh, yes, indeed, the wizard well knew about them, considering they'd bedeviled him for decades.

Being the oldest law firm in the wizarding world and known more concisely as 'FGL', the original partners of this company had gone on to their presumably-deserved rewards centuries earlier. They'd left behind an exceedingly dignified practice which handled only the affairs of the most deep-rooted Noble and Ancient Houses, along with several of magical Britain's stateliest institutions, such as St. Mungo's. The Daily Prophet had managed to retain FGL nearly fifty years ago by offering that firm some very challenging legal cases back then, and the older company continued to handle the paper's legal issues among their other obligations.

These same obligations had occasionally been in opposition to Albus Dumbledore's politicial manuevers, and when this proud wizard had clashed with an imperturbable law firm quite accustomed over the last half-millennium at seeing self-important government officials come and go, things hadn't gone the proper way a very grumpy Headmaster normally expected. Dumbledore soon enough convinced himself it'd all worked out for the best, and he discreetly avoided any further legal conflicts with those people. That had worked so far, which made it only more infuriating to have to deal with those bloody lawyers now-

Hmmm… Perhaps he could take them down a peg or two, seeing how they might have just overreached themselves. Giving the Minister for Magic his sternest stare, Dumbledore demanded, "What did the paper's editor have to say about it all? I'm warning you, madam, he'd certainly better not hide behind something so absurd as 'anonymous sources' or the like!"

Leaning back in her chair, Millicent nodded thoughtfully, only to stick a metaphorical knife into her listener's sudden hopes by informing him, "Actually, Mr. Prescott was just getting started on exactly that, until our meeting was interrupted. I'm sure you remember Madam Bones, from the DMLE? Well, around then, she stormed into my office, dragging along one of her department's Aurors. For some reason, Mr. Prescott wasn't happy at all at seeing this specific wizard right there. Not when Bones crossly repeated what her officer had just confessed. How he was one of those who arrested Snape in the first place, only to later hear this Death Eater got let off scot-free. It made him angry enough to check out the records of interrogations under Veritaserum, and he became even more furious over what Snape had done as part of Voldemort's crowd."

Glancing at the fireplace, where Dumbledore's stunned face in the flames continued to dazedly stare back at the woman in her office, Millicent dryly went on. "Worse of all, the Auror - a Mr. Thomas Hinton, I believe - has two children at Hogwarts, _and_ they're both in a certain Potion Master's class! He wasn't going to have that, no matter what he had to do or what might happen to him, so Hinton took a copy of the interrogation records and he headed straight to the Daily Prophet offices. Once the editor learned what was going on, the story, along with Hinton's pensieved memory of arresting Snape, went to press right away-"

"That's actual cause for arrest, the whole newspaper!" burst from Dumbledore, who irately persisted, "They defied the Wizengamot's gag order, so why haven't you already shut them down?"

Showing her teeth in a mirthless smile, Millicent coldly responded, "Becase then, the Daily Prophet's lawyer spoke up, pointing out a very interesting fact which _you_ managed to overlook at the time! My own legal people have told me it's a defense which has a good chance of winning."

Observing Dumbledore's blank expression, a very exasperated woman gritted, "A gag order keeps the press from reporting on a case currently being heard in court, except you made sure your spy got a pardon without Severus Snape even having a trial! So, there's no cause to keep things secret that might influence the court's decision!"

"Ridiculous!" announced Dumbledore. "There's no way it'll be accepted-"

Interrupting in kind, Millicent snorted, "Accepted where? The lawyer from Flint, Gannet and Lochwell wasn't bothered at all by the prospect of arguing the whole thing before the Wizengamot, Headmaster! The _full_ Wizengamot, not the bare quorum of your supporters you scraped up a few days ago! Who won't be the slightest bit happy about all that when they learn what you did, disregarding their authority and putting a Death Eater back in Hogwarts. Where their children are, you _idiot!_"

This last insult had been snapped by a witch very close to completely losing her temper with this morning's caller. Dumbledore himself glowered back at the angry politician, his own ire growing every second by sometone totally unused to being treated so disrespectfully. This led to the wizard harshly grumbling, "I suggest you watch your words carefully, Madam Minister, lest something regrettable occur between us. That would be a shame, since we need to work together in order to contain this minor crisis."

Millicent incredulously stared at the face in the fireplace,wondering if Dumbledore had actually lost his mind in the last few minutes. Indeed from the confident look now upon the Headmaster's features, the woman in her office found herself believing this wizard was genuinely out of touch from the rest of the magical world.

She tried to tell him otherwise by sarcastically suggesting, "How in Merlin's name are you going to handle it, perform a mass obliviation on everybody? Right now, today's edition of the Prophet is being read by its furthest subscribers, and they'll soon be joining in with everyone else in sending an angry letter by owl post to the people they blame for this! I've already been told by my staff that numerous Howlers have been pouring in here for the last half-hour, and I don't think they'll be stopping any time soon!"

Directing a very evil glare at someone whose fault this totally was, the witch now took a deep breath, and she loudly continued over Dumbledore's attempts to speak, "As for myself, _I_ suggest you go back to your duties at Hogwarts, since you'll surely soon be inundated with furious letters over keeping a Death Eater on salary at the castle! Not to mention how your own staff and students will feel about it, and write back to their families wanting to know what's going to be done about this!"

Dumbledore finally managed to get a word in edgewise, lordly dismissing Millicent's concerns. "Things will quickly settle down, Minister. For one, I intend to divert the citizenry's attention by bringing criminal charges against the Auror who betrayed his confidentiality oaths-"

"Are you _insane?_" shouted Millicent, fed up to her back teeth with a man who'd just proposed creating an even bigger politicial disaster for the wizarding government.

She icily explained to a bewildered Dumbledore, "Madam Bones fired the culprit on the spot here in my office. She didn't have any choice, even though she told me later who he was, one of her steadiest Aurors, a twenty-year veteran with several commendations for bravery during the war with Voldemort. Mr. Hinton even acted like a proper copper when he got offered a large bribe from Lucius Malfoy, turned him down flat, and reported it to his superiors. Unfortunatgely, the purebloods in the DMLE then hushed the whole thing up, and got Hinton transferred into the worse possible Auror jobs! That man still soldiered on, despite him and his entire family now being targeted by other Death Eaters!"

"Minister Bagnold-" warily began Dumbledore, only to be cut off by the witch's unstoppable rant.

"You be quiet and let me finish! Right after Bones had to dismiss Hinton, the FGL lawyer declared they'd defend him pro bono if necessary from any charges made against him, like you just told me! How sure are you exactly, of winning any court case that has Mr. Hinton, an actual everyday hero, being compared to Severus Snape the bloody Death Eater? Me, I think the jury'll declare Hinton innocent right away after the final arguments, carry him off on their shoulders in triumph, and the rest of the onlookers will lynch your pet spy on the front steps of the courthouse!"

For the next few minutes, there was silence in the office, save for the soft crackle of magical flames, as two people in the room traded stubborn looks. Eventually, Millicent sighed in her irritated frustration, to then pick up her wand off the desktop and hold it ready. "Dumbledore, I'm not interested in discussing this any further. You'd best look to your own affairs. There'll be enough trouble over this to keep you quite busy, I'm sure."

With those last contemptuous words, the Minister for Magic flicked her wand at the fireplace, instantaneously extinguishing the flames, and forcefully expelling Dumbledore's presence from her office, which was an example of wizarding discourtesy on a par with rudely slamming down a muggle telephone receiver in the middle of a conversation.

"Arsehole," snarled the mature woman under her breath, as she then went back to work.

* * *

Holding the cardboard box under one arm which contained his personal effects after cleaing out his desk, Tom Hinton walked along the building corridors towards the front entrance of the Auror Department. His journey was willingly delayed by having to shake the many proffered hands of his former co-workers. Most, even if they weren't exactly sure what to say, still gave an admiring nod accompanied by a friendly squeeze of their fingers to the sacked Auror.

While nobody there approved at all of passing confidential information onto the press, just about every copper in the place sooner or later had a case dismissed or some proper villain caught red-handed get off through political meddling from the higher-ups. The immense aggravation this caused for the rank and file lawpersons couldn't help but eventually produce among them an unspoken fantasy where they showed up those interfering sods for once and all, even at the likely cost of this. It ended up with their former colleague being sent off not in bitterness, but in actual sympathy and sadness.

Walking out of the Ministry of Magic, perhaps for the last time ever, Tom had an odd little smile on his lips, a rather unusual expression for someone with no employment and no likely prospects for a man in his early forties with a family needing to be fed. However, as his free hand came away from carrying his box and these fingers brushed against a hard lump in his robe's most secure inside pocket, the wizard cheerfully acknowledged to himself that things weren't all that bad. In fact, the ex-Auror now had an actually whimsical thought drift through his mind:

*Never thought I'd ever be bribed to _do _my bloody job!*

After all, it'd only been a few days before, when as part of what the other Aurors had nicknamed 'the Big Sweep', he and his fellow Special Sergeant Paul O'Malley and Special Inspector Thompson had been hitting the streets of Diagon Alley. They'd already nabbed one Death Eater without any untoward excitement, until someone came up and introduced himself as Arthur Clayman from the Ministry, who had an update for them. None of the squad had ever laid eyes on this new bloke before, but the department was pulling everyone out of their offices to get as many people as possible to support the Aurors. Plus, he had the proper identification, so they huddled together and checked out the wanted posters handed to them by Clayman of whatever nasty piece of work they were now supposed to pick up.

O'Malley, who fancied himself as something of a wit, expressed what the others were thinking, "Looks like a vulture after he ate somebody who disagreed with him, doesn't he?"

The Clayman bloke had sniggered loudly over this, and then he'd told the squad where to find Severus Snape. Tom had thought then the name to be a bit familiar, but nobody he could recall offhand, so they'd thanked the Ministry functionary and left him behind to go collar yet another Death Eater. It'd worked out easy as pie, with Tom doing the actual hands-on arresting and checking for the Dark Mark, and this Snape fellow had been immediately stunned and turned over to the collecting crew. The rest of the afternoon had gone like that, along with having to fill out the usual never-ending forms concerning their entire actions by Tom and the rest of his squad.

Several days later, while celebrating with his friends from the force in their regular pub over what looked to be the successful round-up of virtually every one of You-Know-Who's minions, Tom had suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, the Auror had beamed at seeing the chap there from Diagon Alley, Clayton- No, Clayman! Except, unlike every one of the other drinkers there, this man didn't look happy at all. Leaning forward to shout into Tom's ear over the raucous conversation in the pub, this stranger had asked for a private word. Wondering what the hell was going on, Tom picked up his pint off the bar, and he followed Clayman to an empty booth in the back.

A minute afterwards, the Auror had swiftly gone from an amiable buzz from decent ale into furious sobriety over hearing how a goddamn Death Eater had been given a bloody pardon! Even worse, that bastard was a teacher at Hogwarts where his son and daughter were complainingly taking potions from Professor Severus Snape!

Clayman had steadily eyed the raging father across their booth table, and then this bureaucrat had reached into his robes and pulled out a small cloth bag, placing it on the middle of the tabletop. Momentarily distracted from his sudden wrath, Tom had gaped at the unexpected object, until a calm voice from his newfound companion had told him to seriously think about using what was in there. Without another word, Clayman had left both the booth and the pub, leaving a bewildered Tom behind, who then cautiously opened the cloth bag.

Inside this was a copy of an interrogation under Veritaserum, the names of the editor of the Daily Prophet and a lawyer from Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell, not to mention-

Ten seconds later, ignoring the grumbling complaints of those whose drinks he'd spilled in hastily shoving past them, Tom Hinton was standing in the open doorway of the pub, frantically looking around outside at the deserted late-night section there of Diagon Alley. The only signs of life was the hindquarters of a large, black dog disappearing into the mouth of a passageway further up the street. Glancing down at what he was still gripping in his right hand, Tom took a step forward, while also closing behind himself the tavern's front door for some necessary privacy. Remaining on the sidewalk by the pub, this Auror warily checked his surroundings, and once he was sure there were no possible witnesses, he opened the cloth bag again. Once more, the law officer disbelievingly regarded inside the small sack, besides everything else, a Gringotts cash token carved from an enchanted chunk of pure gold.

Tom had seen a copy of this ornate metal disk long ago during his Auror training days, but he'd never come across one before in real life. A cash token from this Goblin bank was redeemable anywhere in the magical world, it was totally unable to be forged or counterfeited, and it also happened to be restricted to the very limited number of the most wealthy wizards and witches around.

This specific token in a dazed Auror's hand was for one hundred thousand galleons.


	17. Chapter 14

Severus Snape dramatically swept into the Hogwarts classroom, his robes swirling behind himself (the result of much secret practice, of course). This wizard was quite prepared to immediately take away as many points as he could from any student today who dared the slightest insolence towards himself. The only minor flaw in this stern resolution was that the classroom happened at the moment to be totally deserted.

Coming to an abrupt halt, the Potions teacher stared around in utter bewilderment at the empty room, with the usual sneer on his face changing into actual surprise. His firmness of purpose for the past few minutes since Snape had left the Slytherin dungeons, to steadfastedly carry on as if the front page article in this morning's Daily Prophet was a mere bagatelle, now suddenly seemed to have been built upon foundations of sand. It appeared the newspaper article, which had brazenly revealed his Death Eater ties to the entire school at breakfast, must have had an extremely upsetting effect on the castle's population since then. Or so he presumed, given that Snape had hastily removed himself from the silent Great Hall, all too conscious of being the center of everyone's attention, and _not_ in a good way.

After being exposed as a marked member of Voldemort's forces, Snape had unabashedly holed up in his private quarters in Slytherin House for the next hour or so, feeling actual relief at being left entirely alone. However, as time passed and the Headmaster failed to contact him, the man in his black robes started to become worried. What in Merlin's name was Dumbledore up to now? Surely that elderly wizard would seek to confer with him as soon as possible, to discuss how to deal with this?

Eventually, it became too much to bear, having no visitors at all nor receving any messages. He also shortly needed to attend the first Potions class of the day. At last making up his mind and then warily leaving his quarters, Snape hadn't encountered anyone on his way to the upper floors of the castle. As he passed through the ancient building's corridors, the man tried to persuade himself that things weren't as discouraging as they currently appeared.

Mentally grasping at any possible straws, Snape was encouraged by the quick realization of something else mentioned in the Daily Prophet's edition, concerning his recent pardon given to him by a Wizengamot assembly several days ago. It was true the contemptuous citing of this by the article's author actually gave the impression of written vitriol splashing onto the page. Still, the fact remained Snape couldn't be arrested or prosecuted over anything he'd formerly done at his dark master's orders. His glum stride picking up slightly at this, the Potion Master's mood continued to improve at the coming prospect of sinisterly intimidating his students, as he'd done ever since taking up his position at Hogwarts. If even _one_ of those dunderheads dared to defy his authority today, they'd soon learn the consequences of crossing Severus Snape!

Except…nobody else but he was here, right this minute in the Potions classroom. His pale face tightening in sudden suspicion, the professor whipped out his wand, and this wizard then made several angry gestures with the little magical stick, accompanied by the proper muttered spells. Unfortunately, there weren't any unexpected discoveries. He was indeed in the proper place at the correct time, his eyes were working as well as ever, and the room was definitely unoccupied save for an irate teacher. The little sods who should've been present weren't even invisible! Which was a definite possibility for young wizards and witches up to no good with their magical pranks.

Storming out of the classroom, his wand gripped in fingers clenched so tightly they were bone-white, Snape wrathfully headed towards the stairs leading to Dumbledore's office. There'd better be a good explanation for this from the Headmaster, or else!

Though, on the way, Snape was passing quickly by a connecting corridor when he heard some very familiar voices coming from further up this hallway. Swerving in his path to make a beeline for those who'd just unluckily revealed themselves, Snape burst from the corridor into one of the larger areas inside the castle, which if it'd been open to the sky, this would have been called a courtyard. As it had been so for centuries, the bare room was one of Hogwarts' unused spaces, rarely ventured into and otherwise ignored by everyone.

However, today it was filled with about a dozen seventh-year students from the four houses, all hard at work cleaning the floor and walls. Not with their wands but by instead using ordinary mops and water-filled buckets. Their labors were being overseen by a quite bemused Argus Filch, the castle caretaker, who was standing by the accessway and watching everything with a very perplexed look upon his unlovely features.

This normally-grumpy squip's attention was instantly drawn by Snape's irate entrance. Shuffling over right away, the older man confronted the newcomer, asking, "Here, Professor, what exactly did this gang _do_ to make you send 'em all to detention with me? None of the little perishers would say why, but they just showed up earlier and said I was to put 'em to work."

An astonished Snape stopped in his tracks at hearing this odd bit of news. His bitter countenance working away in rare bafflement, the Potions teacher blurted out in response, "Don't be absurd! I did no such thing!"

The two Hogwarts staff members gazed blankly at each other for a few moments in their mutual confusion. At that point, a polite cough made both men turned their heads to examine the tall student who was now standing before themselves and in turn blandly regarding the pair. Recognizing him right away, Snape glared at Timothy Simmons in his school robes and Gryffindor tie, before irritably demanding, "Simmons, what the devil is the meaning of this? Why isn't anyone in my class, where you lot should be right this minute?"

"We decided not to," tersely replied the younger wizard, who then allowed a look of absolute scorn to appear on his face while he stared at a stunned teacher right in the eyes. In his now-chilly voice, Timothy added, "After what we read in the paper earlier, none of us particularly wanted to be around _you,_ Snape!"

Beginning to swell up in his sudden fury at being addressed in such a disrespectful tone, Snape still managed to observe how the rest of the students had set down their cleaning tools and approached en masse. The others then arranged themselves in a semi-circle behind Simmons. Particularly noteworthy to the Slytherin teacher was how the two members there of his own house were at the far right end of the semi-circle, all while keeping their empty hands held carefully at their sides. Just when Snape noticed this last little item, the other students shook their arms, producing drawn wands in their hands. Which, for the nonce, were pointed downwards at the castle floor.

Trying to settle down his whirling thoughts over this unbelievable act of what was nothing less than outright revolt, Snape's eyes darted around, frantically checking out the entire situation. One thing was clear right away, from seeing Filch's pasty face as this frightened squib backed up out of sight through the room's doorway, and then hearing scuttling footsteps of retreat hastily echo through the corridor: there wouldn't be any help from that quarter.

At Simmons' left, Julia Hennessey from Hufflepuff now spoke in the most disdainful tone she could manage, "What's the matter, Death Eater? Judging from the Daily Prophet, you were willing enough to join in with those other bastards to murder, torture, and rape anybody who wouldn't go along with somebody who managed to get killed by a little boy!" Showing her bared teeth in a savage grin which had no humor whatsoever in this, Julia further snarled, "_My_ cousin's best friend got caught in one of your bunch's raids, and they had to bury her in a closed casket!"

The strained atmosphere in the room now grew even more tense, with many of the other disgusted students looking ready to join in with Julia in attacking Snape at once. This same teacher became taut in appalled readiness, knowing if a genuine fight broke out, he'd fare poorly. The older wizard could effectively deal with several opponents at once, but not against nearly ten senior students. Even if these children couldn't match him in skill and experience at wand dueling, they'd surely overwhelm him in the end by sheer numbers. The only thing which might save him would be assistance from anybody willing to help out Snape. Except, when he again glanced at the other Slytherins in the room, the black-robed man received from there nothing but actual discouragement at this remote possibility.

One part of Snape's tasks in the service of Voldemort was to seek out Hogwarts students for possible converts to his master's beliefs and viewpoints. Hopefully, this would result in them eventually joining this dark lord's forces. For his own reasons, Dumbledore had done nothing to prevent this, though he'd certainly known about it, both before and after Snape had become his spy. While Snape had some success at this during cautious discussions with students from the other castle houses, only in Slytherin House could he freely sound out those supporters of the pureblood agenda and other, harsher ways of dealing with muggles and the muggleborn wizards and witches. However, at this exact moment in the room, the two young men in their green and silver ties, who'd previously shown themselves quite willing to consider coming over to Voldemort, now demonstrated an actual lackadaisical attitude towards joining with Snape against the others there.

In fact, while one Slytherin student was keeping his face neutrally blank and his posture as passive as feasible, the other seventh-year student was actually directing an expression of pure loathing at Snape. Who himself was glumly remembing how the boy there was a quiet but faithful adherent of Voldemort. This meant he wouldn't have enjoyed at all learning from the Daily Prophet how his Hogwarts house head had betrayed You-Know-Who by being Dumbledore's spy and trying to prevent Lily Potter's death from Snape's other master, someone which had also been inexplicably destroyed during the Halloween night at Godric's Hollow.

This same feeling of revulsion towards Snape, at varying levels, would almost certainly be shared by other Slytherins. They'd have nothing but disdain for a unmasked turncoat, whose only accomplishments had been simple survival through mere luck alone. Where was the ambition, cunning, and resourcefulness in _that?_

Just when it appeared violence was about to commence, Simmons at the forefront of the semi-circle spoke again. Looking directly at Snape sneering back at him, this resolute student firmly said, "I suggest you leave now…Professor. Go to the Headmaster, and tell him from us and a lot of the other students here, that we won't tolerate being in the same classroom with you ever again. If Dumbledore wants to give us detention and take away house points, then he can do it, but this won't make the slightest bit of difference. We're boycotting everything you're involved with, and we've written to our parents explaining why. I think they'll fully support us, even to our getting expelled. But, I doubt that'll happen, since you and Dumbledore will be too busy dealing with other things."

"We'll see about that," Snape icily replied. However, he thankfully seized this offered opportunity by adding, "I intend to inform the Headmaster right now of everything that's taken place. You and the others here can presently do whatever you please, but there _will_ be severe consequences for this!" Abruptly spinning around on his heel to make his robe flamboyantly flare, Snape stormed out of the room, his face set in an expression of harsh anger that hid how tense his back felt, expecting at any moment to be hit by a curse or hex from one of the students watching him depart.

Fortunately, this didn't happen. The Potions Master instead made his rapid way up to Dumbledore's office. During the journey, his mind was churning over the latest hostile encounter with those young idiots. This had the potential to become a very serious issue. In all Snape's experience at Hogwarts, either throughout his own schooldays here or as a teacher afterwards, no student had ever so blatantly defied one of the castle's staff in such a manner before. Unless this kind of insubordination was immediately dealt with by the Headmaster's strictest discipline, the rot was sure to spread. If it hadn't done so already, judging by what Simmons had mentioned about the other Potions students choosing to join in with the rebellion.

Pausing in his climb upward the stairs to the highest tower, Snape inwardly felt a flicker of genuine fear resulting from his shaken thoughts. He'd never thought this was possible, what with Hogwarts normally being isolated from the usual stresses and anxieties taking place elsewhere in the wizarding world. If the events having to do with the fall of Voldemort and the capture of virtually all of his forces had actually managed to penetrate into the ancient school itself, then even Hogwarts and its population would take notice…and possibly act, against one Severus Snape. With this very person being the same man who'd mostly treated the other teachers here and also his own pupils with overweening contempt and disdain for the last few years. True, this was partially due to the intense strain of his dangerous life as a double agent, but Snape's customary abrasive personality which made him detest just about everyone he met would've then produced for him plenty of enemies all on his own.

Of course, Snape never went so far as to reflect upon this last. _He _was always justified in whatever he'd done, and all those other dunderheads with their petty jealousies and complaints couldn't stand this, resulting in such stupidities as today's childish mutiny. Well, when he met with Dumbledore a few seconds from now, this powerful wizard would sternly put things to rights at once!

Feeling a bit more optimistic than earlier, Snape stalked up the stairs, stopping only to say the usual password of some sort of candy to the stone gargoyle guarding the office entrance. When this portal swung open, the Potions Master angrily strode into the room, only to immediately come to a dead stop, as he gaped at what met his eyes there.

Seated in his chair behind a cluttered desk, Albus Dumbledore cast a bleak look at his latest visitor, and in a remarkably flat voice, the elderly wizard now stated, "Ah, Severus. We were just about to send for you."

In their own semi-circle of chairs in front of the Headmaster's desk, the entire Hogwarts Board of Governors turned their heads to peer at Severus Snape, who wasn't currently being greeted with welcoming expressions from any of those mentioned persons.


	18. Chapter 15

"Sirs? Sirs? Sirs?"

The man in his black robes staring blankly over the rippling waters of the Scottish loch from one of Hogwart's lakeside balconies eventually became aware of the thin, squeaky voice patiently repeating itself over and over. Severus Snape, previousy Potions Professor at the wizarding school and now having been ingloriously sacked from this position earlier today, dully gazed downwards at around knee level to where a little creature was gazing back at him with its bulbous eyes.

Brightening up a bit at finally being able to carry out its assigned duty, the house-elf dressed in a small, black and red tartan bath towel which clashed horribly with the being's yellowish-white skin then proffered a folded sheet of paper to the numb teacher. When Snape merely continued to apathetically regard this messenger, the note was still held out, but this time the house-elf also stated, "Headmasters tells Sippy to gives to yous, and then obey what yous orders him. Headmasters says yous must reads now, Sirs."

When it appeared the house-elf would willingly spend the rest of his existence imitating a goggling miniature statue while waiting for Snape to do _something_ besides just standing there, the wizard lethargically reached down, and he took the note. Instead of the usual quick apparation away, the tiny mannikin remained in Snape's company, who paid no attention to this as he began to read the letter handed to him:

_Severus,_

_I am truly sorry for what previously transpired in my office, but as you know, my hands were tied. Given the recent shake-up in the Board of Governors as part of the latest chapter in the events which overtook our society after V's downfall, this Board now has a majority consisting of members from the Light and Neutral families, rather than the routine deadlock which was created when Lucius Malfoy and his associates were part of this supervisory group._

Snape's current state of torpor after his humiliating dismissal began to dissipate slightly, as he inadvertently remembered the lack of a customary shock of ash-blonde hair and an aristocratic drawl in the Headmaster's office. The replacement of Lucius by a fierce, mature witch who'd stayed silent during his visit wasn't something which would ordinarily concern Snape. However, Lady Augusta Longbottom had steadily directed towards this wizard a look of cold murder every single moment throughout his sacking. The potions expert glumly went back to reading Dumbledore's letter.

_In any case, your situation was the first topic of our discussion, and I was quite decisively informed that your attendance was no longer needed, or even wanted, at Hogwarts. My attempts to persuade the Board otherwise, given your valiant service to the Order, met with a distinct lack of success. As usual, the private reasons for your actions were not mentioned by myself, but I'm afraid what the Board learned from today's exasperating article in the paper firmly made up their minds. When I still endeavored to keep you on the castle's staff, an actual threat of my own removal from office was uttered, concealed within the new Board's determination to conduct a comprehensive overhaul of the school's entire faculty and curriculum._

The brisk wind coming off the loch fluttered both Snape's hair and the sheet of paper in his hand, with the latter helped along by actual anxiety causing his fingers to quiver. The man with a strong fondness for midnight-dark clothing was at this point sincerely shocked at what he'd just learned. Dumbledore _was_ Hogwarts, and the possibility of this aged wizard having to leave the school should've been incomprehensible to any other inhabitant of their magical world. Snape worriedly continued to read the note.

_Seeing how things were turning out, I had to reluctantly acquiesce to the Board's demands, if only to protect Hogwarts from the prospect of further inconvenience from a group which has already demonstrated their shortsightedness. Yet, the mere fact that I was forced to terminate your employment so disrespectfully doesn't necessarily mean things will remain this way forever._

Snape then felt his heart actually rise in his chest from sheer hope.

_At present, you must depart from the castle and otherwise discreetly go about your life for an unknown amount of time. I am in the possession of crucial information which cannot be shared at this moment, but in some distant future, your presence and abilities will be surely needed at Hogwarts again, and I will look forward to having you here with me, Severus._

_Getting down to the specific details, the house-elf I sent with this letter (whose name is Sippy, if he hasn't already introduced himself) also has a Gringotts bank note for a good sum of money from my vault which should provide a reasonable standard of living until you find further employment. This livelihood, lodgings, and existence should be as unassuming as you can manage, since it would be best to avoid attracting additional attention. Try to settle in at some nearby locale, which will make things easier. Unfortunately, save in the direst emergencies, we cannot risk communicating with each other. You may be sure that for the next few months, both of us will be under surveillance by a wide variety of persons for their own reasons. If it's absolutely necessary, I'll have Sippy contact you, and an owl message from Lily Evans to my office will certain gain my notice._

_One more thing, with my deepest regrets. Sippy will collect and transport you and your personal effects as to wherever you wish in the wizarding world, but I'm afraid your potions research, the notes regarding these, and other concoctions and mixtures must remain here and not be taken with you. Under our institutional rules, since all your experiments and the resulting data from these took place in the castle while using school supplies to create them, these belong to Hogwarts. I know this will cause intense disappointment to you, but given how both the Ministry and the DMLE appeared genuinely eager to get their hands upon you during our prior encounter with these ladies in charge, it's wise not to give them the slightest excuse for your arrest._

_I hope this will alleviate any concerns you may have about your future, Severus. Wishing you the best of fortune, I remain,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Uncomplainingly awaiting his next orders, Sippy the house-elf watched with mild interest how Sirs' face turned even whiter than usual, to then develop angry red blotches on this wizard's cheeks when he finished reading the letter.

Spinning on his heel to glower out at the loch, Snape took several deep breaths to get his emotions once more under control, since it would accomplish absolutely nothing to start cursing out loud. Though, just thinking over how much work he'd done over his potions at the laboratory in the Slytherin dungeons only to have to leave everything behind made his blood begin to boil. The wizard's ire became even more heated when he brooded about whoever would take his place as Hogwart's Potions Master. It'd be that puffed-up Slughorn, no doubt about it, brought out of retirement and getting his pudgy hands on Snape's masterpieces…

* * *

Over the next few days, Severus Snape grew even more crankier than his usual irritated self. The unwelcome news the Headmaster had casually slipped into the end of his letter would've ordinarily been enough to thoroughly vex the bad-tempered man, but things soon became even worse.

First of all, Dumbledore had also been wrong about the Gringotts bank note. Not over the money itself, but in presuming it to be sufficient for Snape to live on. This would've been quite true if the former professor of potions resided anywhere else but the place where he was eventually forced to dwell. After being taken with his sparse belongings by Sippy to Diagon Alley and collecting his funds from the Goblin bank, Snape had then automatically sought out the nearest lodging house to rent a room.

One unpleasant confrontation later with the landlord, Snape made a hasty retreat from the reception counter just in time before being bodily ejected from the place. Making his hurried way down the street with a furious bellow coming from behind of, "We don't want your kind here, you bastard!", the wizard hunching his head down in his robes to avoid being further recognized by the staring onlookers wasn't exactly thrilled about having to try again.

In fact, two other attempts to find decent acommodations ended just as spitefully, with Snape quickly identified as a supporter of You-Know-Who, and then being turned down flat as a potential tenant. Nobody cared that he had a pardon for his former Death Eater activities. Rather, the prevailing opinion among the hostile bystanders towards this former teacher instead consisted of unsympathetic jeers such as, "Sod off! You might've dodged getting arrested, but that doesn't mean you're welcome here! Get out before I call the Aurors!"

It eventually wound up with Snape moving to the sole haven for such detested characters as which this wizard had perforce joined the ranks: Knockturn Alley. That utterly disreputable and horrid location didn't _care_ what you'd done before hiding there. Provided you weren't actually bringing the minions of the law along after you in hot pursuit, and moreover could pay your way, then even someone like Snape could at last find in there a place to stay.

Nobody would ever call his squalid quarters a cozy domicile, though. To add extra insult to injury, it was damned expensive. The proprietors of Knockturn Alley had a nose for their customers' vulnerabilities which would make any great white shark with the usual line of 'scenting one drop of blood in a zillion gallons' appear to have a serious head cold. During the start of negotiations, when Snape had erupted over what he'd been shockingly told was the steep daily price for his rooms, this was met with an indifferent shrug from the slovenly landlord of the lodging house. Who also then added an uncaring statement, "You're not going to find anyplace cheaper, laddie, unless you live in the streets. My advice is, pay now before I raise the price for allowing a Death Eater to lower the tone of this neighborhood."

An evil cackle from the landlord followed right after that last sardonic comment, over seeing Snape's immediate appalled glance around the hovel they were standing inside. Too, from what he'd observed of the entire ghastly neighborhood, an onslaught of every foul magical creature known to the wizarding world deciding to simultaneously evacuate their bowels at this location couldn't have possibly further lowered the tone of this fetid district.

Just before he was about to storm off in an indignant huff, Snape reluctantly changed his mind due to the landlord gleefully adding, "If you decide to live in the streets anyway, me bucko, you'll be glad to know it won't be for long, especially if your luck runs out right away. We've never found out who - or what - is out there after nightfall eating those poor buggers, but they're bloody well tidy at it, mind you. Just a few drops of blood are left over in the mornings at the most, with even the biggest bones gone to the very last crumb. Now, either piss off, or kindly hand over the first week's rent."

For once in his life totally speechless, Snape had paid.

After taking up residence in his new home, the wizard then dolefully examined his greatly diminished wallet. Making a rapid estimation on how much longer his depleted funds would last at this rate, Snape promptly decided he needed to find some sort of employment as soon as possible. Well, at least this should be easy enough to accomplish, given he'd been the youngest wizard in generations to attain the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts. Snape then left his lodgings to make a quick visit to the nearest owl post office to send off a dozen written notes to potion shops in other wizarding enclaves beyond Diagon Alley announcing that he was open to offers to work for them. As for his current shopping district location, he'd visit these specific shops and stores in person tomorrow.

Making sure to return to Knockturn Alley well before dark, Snape was feeling a bit more confident about his present situation. Once again in his rooms, the wizard spent a few minutes casting the strongest pest-repelling spells he could manage. While determinedly ignoring the low rustle of innumerable multiple-legged vermin fleeing their former abode, Snape went to bed.

Making a cautious foray from Knockturn Alley early the next morning to the rest of Diagon Alley, Snape thankfully avoided the usual throng of wizards and witches visiting the restaurants, shop, and other sights in this business district. It also had the minor advantage of allowing far fewer people to witness him once more being totally humiliated.

Several hours later, a red-faced man furiously stalked out of his very last prospect, a tiny potions shop at the far end of Diagon Alley. At least this time he hadn't been hexed on sight, unlike the second and fourth shop visits in that order to the street's entire contingent of wizarding retail businesses for magical concoctions.

No, the shopkeeper's acid tongue had been malicious enough on its own, with the proprietor explaining at great length that he wouldn't hire Severus Snape even if the man knew the secret to brewing immortality. Among these vicious remarks had been a scornful recitation of every single flaw in Snape's character and a last stinging statement confirming that the word had gone out and around the entire district, and even further.

To sum it up, _nobody_ in the entire law-abiding British wizarding world was going to allow Snape to work for them, no matter how skilled he was at potions. This admitted expertise yet failed to compensate for such things as the Death Eater membership, Snape's own exceedingly disagreeable personality, and the fact he couldn't teach a first-year potions student at Hogwarts to empty a filled cauldron even if the instructions had been clearly inscribed on the bottom of this large metal pot.

Ducking into the nearest passageway at hand off the street, Snape stopped a few steps inside the narrow lane between two large buildings. Turning to lean forward, his forehead rested against the cool stones of the wall. Staying like this while feeling a flicker of gratitude over how good this felt, the former Potions Master dejectedly went over his few remaining options.

Any attempts to find honest work in his chosen profession elsewhere in England besides Diagon Alley would also surely be futile. At present, back in his Knockturn Alley rooms, the place was undoubtedly filled to the ceiling with Howlers responding to his previous inquiries owled off yesterday in mistaken optimism. If those other potion makers hadn't sent back something even _worse,_ which Snape uneasily recognized to be a distinct possibility and didn't like to think about at all, given how hard it'd been to find a residence there in the first place.

That left only working overseas: at magical enclaves in Europe, the Americas, and Australia, which were the likeliest alternatives. However, Snape had no desire whatsoever for emigrating. Despite how the wizarding world was currently treating him, this was still his home, and he didn't want to leave it. There was also the significant fact that traveling to live and work in another country, even to France or some other European nation, risked taking him too far away from Hogwarts and Dumbledore, not to mention this elderly wizard's secret plans. It might turn out with Snape in the end having to give up any job he acquired and head back to Britain, if and when the Headmaster one day summoned him.

There _was _another choice, though. It'd even allow for Snape to remain in England, work at his potions, and provide the opportunity to make a good deal more money than he'd previously done before in his life. Unfortunately the very idea of becoming the newest illegal potions supplier in Knockturn Alley was just too loathsome for Snape to contemplate for more than a few moments. Denigrate his art simply to create love potions, addicting drugs, weight-loss mixtures, and other puerile fabrications for the unwashed multitudes? Ridiculous!

Besides, what with the way things had been going for Snape so far, if he actually decided the game was worth the candle, his very first illicit customer would definitely turn out to be an undercover Auror. Absolutely not. The Potions Master wasn't going to give that blasted Madam Bones the satisfaction of putting him in with the rest of the criminal population of Azkaban suffering their life sentences inside that extremely inhospitable island penitentiary.

Bugger it. He needed a drink.

Snape thoughtfully glanced up the passageway he'd entered. Knockturn Alley was a few streets ahead, and from what he remembered from his earlier visits around this exact setting, a pub called the Flayed Unicorn was located there. In the past, Snape hadn't ever been tempted to visit this filthy tavern, but right now, that decaying building's repulsive name was in fact the main selling point for the wizard to drop in there for a quick pint. He'd order what seemed to be the least toxic liquor, retire to a remote corner, and spend a pleasant interlude imagining all of his enemies being slowly skinned alive.


	19. Chapter 16

This _had_ to be some sort of clever ploy.

Except, even while he gave yet another suspicious glower around the gloomy interior of the Flayed Unicorn, with its inebriated customers hunched over their own drinks and ignoring him, Severus Snape couldn't help but to analytically doubt what he'd just thought. If you actually wanted to distinguish among those of the wizarding population who felt nothing but malice towards the Potions Master, it'd be fairly simple to place these unsympathetic individuals into such categories as (a) the Ministry of Magic, (b) whatever remained of Voldemort's forces, and (c) everyone else. However, the delivery to Snape mere moments ago by a messenger owl of an entirely unexpected request for him to come to a job interview today just didn't fit in with how any of these groups might be planning to do something to him which would turn out to be extremely unpleasant and/or liable to end his life.

First of all, there was the Ministry of Magic. But if they'd basically wanted to, or had actual cause for it, their Aurors could just walk into the pub and arrest him. So, why go to such lengths as using the letter to set him up in a complicated entrapment scheme? No, it didn't make any sense.

Next came the people most likely to hold a grudge against Snape for betraying their master, those pack of pureblood fools who'd flocked to Voldemort. Oh, there'd been one or two actually cunning and dangerous members, such as Lucius or Bellatrix, but from what the man brooding in his corner had read in the Daily Prophet, virtually all of those effective Death Eaters (plus the rest of the dragon fodder) had been rounded up, convicted in most cases, and were rotting in Azkaban. Aside from himself, the rare few of their vile company still free were either hiding under the biggest rock they could find in the magical world, on the run, or behaving like very good little wizards and witches who knew taking one single step out of line would get them instantly slung into that grim island penitentiary with their fellow villains.

Frankly, there wasn't also any obvious logic as to why the above mentioned Dark Lord's followers still on the loose would go around setting up such a convoluted plot involving the recent letter. If they just wanted Snape dead, they could've struck at him before, when he'd first appeared in Knockturn Alley. A quick ambush from the shadows with a hissed "Avada Kedavra!" would definitely accomplish this. Or, if he was supposed to suffer first, any really nasty curse would have Snape spending the next few days dying in incredible agony.

That left the third group…which of this very number might actually have someone possessing a reason, the resources, and an aptitude for a really elaborate revenge. Snape couldn't directly recollect anyone he'd ever encountered in his life as a Death Eater who might have survived to feel enough rancor for this, but it didn't mean there wasn't one, either. However, there was a major objection to that, and it all had to do with the letter itself left behind today by a delivery owl from the law firm of Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell.

For all the matter-of-fact acceptance by the wizarding world over the owl post, it was rarely realized by most people living in this magical society that these messenger avians could be blocked from finding the recipient of any communication they were carrying. For some reason, just about every law-abiding wizard and witch had a blind mental spot about this, but it was indeed true. After all, if it wasn't, the Ministry of Magic could've located Voldemort or any other Death Eater right off just by writing a friendly postcard to them, attaching it to a waiting owl, and then following this airborne bird leading every Auror in the entire DMLE on their brooms and magically loaded for bear.

When the whole British owl delivery service had been set up centuries earlier, the wizarding criminals then going around their felonious business had taken just a minute or so to understand how easily they could be caught by this, and they'd been much quicker in coming up with shielding spells to keep those bloody birds _away._ Unless they'd actually needed to, though. Specific messages from specific persons could be spelled to be mailed to the addressee, but nothing and nobody else. These very same spells had been quietly passed down throughout the generations among the lawbreakers of the wizarding world, much to the exasperation of the Ministry of Magic, who'd spent just as long trying to break the concealing enchantments. This stalemate had extended to the very moment when Severus Snape had been taught during his first few days as a Death Eater how to cast a magical screen which would keep him from being found by a post owl sent to locate him, unless the young man then definitely wished to receive the carried message.

Years later, an older wizard irritably drummed his fingers upon the pub's tabletop while he glared at the seemingly-innocent letter before him, which represented a potentially serious flaw in his own security. A sudden suspicion had seized him moments before, quickly causing Snape to re-check the personal mail wards he'd set up so long ago. Only to find out, with extreme annoyance, that due to his recent decision to send out an employment application by owl post to several potion makers, Snape's shields had magically empowered these birds carrying replies to this communication to trace him. Which in turn had allowed today's flying messenger to directly locate the former Hogwarts teacher seated in the Knockturn Alley tavern. Grimacing at the likely possibility of other and much less polite replies also on the way, Snape hastily gripped his wand, and he made the proper gestures with this to again mask his presence from any unauthorized post owl.

Fine, that was done, but it still didn't solve the minor mystery of the letter presently lying upon his grimy table. There was the overriding point that during his earlier correspondence with the potion makers, Snape certainly hadn't written to the law firm whose name was inscribed at the top of this sheet of paper. So, why had they answered, in the form of somebody he'd never heard of before offering Snape the chance of a job with his employers? At least this stranger had added under his signature at the bottom the name of his company, the North American Wizarding Potions Corporation.

Thoughtfully rubbing his chin, Snape considered this. The NAWPC was the largest and oldest potions firm located in that continent, having been in existence in some form or other ever since the first European wizards had crossed the Atlantic and met with the shamans and other magic-users of the indigenous tribes. Just like everywhere else worldwide when the muggles grew too populous, the wizarding enclaves in the lands beyond the Western Ocean had eventually removed themselves from the notice of those born without magic. Though, those wizards and witches more or less maintained their ties with their European kinfolk, despite the muggle countries in that continent achieving their independence. Not that Snape particularly cared about such trivial details. He'd been more interested throughout this own career about the advances in potions work pioneered by the NAWPC. And now, for some reason, Severus Snape had come to the notice of this highly respected potions corporation, who'd picked the exact moment when he'd been fired from Hogwarts to ask him to drop in today at the law firm's headquarter for an employment interview.

He still didn't like it. It all smacked too much of sheer coincidence, which Snape intensely distrusted. The universe didn't owe him any favors, pleasant or not. It was much easier to think of it as some sort of malevolent scheme to lure him to an awful doom. But if it really was, there yet remained the question of who could've done it in the first place. With Voldemort gone, the only other wand-wielder subtle enough for this was the very man Snape had adjusted his mail-masking wards to be the sole person allowed to contact him, anyway…

In the Flayed Unicorn, which already had seen some very strange things in its entire rickety existence, one more unusual event took place in a shadowed corner. There, after sending a supremely furtive look around, a black-robed man leaned forward until his face was only inches away from a sheet of paper laying on the tabletop. For the next couple of minutes, Snape unsuccessfully whispered the name of every magical candy he could think of, which might reveal the hidden message concealed by Dumbledore in the other wizard's message.

* * *

A long walk later, Snape was mistrustfully eyeing the dignified, multi-storied stone building in the oldest part of Diagon Alley near Gringotts, where he'd been directed to by his letter. After arriving here, this wizard had spent a wary couple of minutes checking out the surrounding area, but there seemed to be a distinct lack of anyone in the vicinity showing the least signs of ill-will towards the former Hogwarts staff member. Instead, the somberly-robed professionals going about their magical business affairs weren't paying any attention at all to Snape. Who was himself nevertheless beginning to develop a minor facial tic due to his overwhelming paranoia.

At last deciding to get it over with, one way or the other, Snape trudged forwards through the main doors of the law offices of Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell. The moment he safely passed over the front entrance and its floor strip of pure silver engraved with ancient runes stretching across the threshold, Snape could feel faint tingles of centuries-old wards smoothly brushing against his whole body. Since nothing further untoward occurred to Snape, the building's protections had just confirmed he had no actively hostile intentions towards any occupant inside.

Despite the sudden intrusion upon his personal privacy, Snape felt himself relax a trifle. This was neutral ground throughout the entire British magical community, as it had been since the three lawyers whose personal initials had given their influential firm its nickname of FGL had joined together five hundred years ago to offer lawful advice to clients of any race, species, or description, as long as they could pay for it. And in turn, a good portion of this received money had since then been spent on the strongest possible magical wards in order to make sure those using the professional services of FGL would be absolutely secure while conferring with their legal representatives.

Right now in the building, the entire Ministry of Magic couldn't touch Snape, unless this wizarding government was quite prepared to offer to a horde of relentless lawyers materializing from out of thin air some explicit evident that their latest visitor and possible client had definitely committed some sort of crime. As for the other player in the recent conflict…

During the start of the war, Voldemort himself had at first mainly ignored FGL and its ilk. This evil wizard was more preoccupied with building up his own forces and striking directly at the Ministry. There'd be time enough when his Death Eaters had overcome their enemies and ruled the wizarding world to incorporate such minor entities as a law firm into his later schemes. However, a very embarrassing incident for these terrorists around then had caused a furious Voldemort to begin what would become his main leadership trait, which was torturing with an Unforgivable curse any subordinate who failed or otherwise let down their master.

It'd started when two recently enlisted minions of the Dark Lord got thoroughly drunk to celebrate a successful muggle raid. Deciding to show their total contempt for the rest of the cowardly buggers out there, this intoxicated pair then staged their own inept attack upon the whole of Diagon Alley.

From what the incredulous witnesses stated afterwards, the inebriated, guffawing pair flying on their brooms had clumsily swooped over the wizarding district's buildings and streets, firing off from their wands vicious hexes, for which thankfully the immense amount of alcohol they'd previously consumed mostly spoiled their aim. At length, these pillocks became distracted from the fleeing crowds below by stopping high in the skies over a certain edifice to simultaneously have a quick break from raising havoc. Along with emptying their queasy stomachs directly upon the headquarters of Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell.

It was never known for sure if those idiots were aware of exactly what building they'd puked onto, since right after this, a double thunderclap was heard along the entire street. Following this, two purple flashes of magical energy entirely covered the bodies of the abruptly-sober Death Eaters. Who were by then frantically flapping their wings in mid-air during a desperate attempt to stay aloft, as these transfigured pigeons started to flutter downwards, following their plummeting brooms.

Those wizarding modes of airborne transportation smashed into countless splinters after hitting the hard cobblestones, but this didn't happen to the altered men. Not when these humans changed into helpless prey were instead at once pounced onto by a half-dozen post owls. Each of these birds had their sharp talons out and ready for the terrified pigeons, with all of these other gleefully hooting beasts celebrating the chance for a free lunch. When it was all over, not a single trace of the Dark Lord's followers was ever found, except for a few bloodstained pigeon feathers, and a couple of smugly-burping owls.

It was a rare hilarious moment during the war between the Ministry and Voldemort, though this latter monster noticeably failed to see the humor in this. After blasting with numerous _Crucios _the pain-wracked husks of every one of his underlings within range, whether or not they'd borne the slightest bit of responsibility for the whole ridiculous debacle, Voldemort went on to carry out an enraged series of atrocity attacks against muggles and the muggleborn. Angrily striking in person, this apparently succeeded in ensuring his name and supporters would once again be feared by all. If any of the public also noticed during this that You-Know-Who himself never went near the FGL building, they were smart enough to keep quiet about it.

The Dark Lord's minions themselves too showed a rare flash of intelligence for their contemptible group by as well leaving the law firm and its employees strictly alone, lest their master be reminded once more of his followers' recent humiliation. A few months later on, Snape became a Death Eater, and before the initiation process, Lucius warned his fellow Slytherin to never even think about FGL, much less mention it while in Voldemort's company.


	20. Chapter 17

Which meant years later, when Snape walked into the hushed main lobby of the law building, he felt a rare sense of sanctuary. Glancing around, the wizard spotted a receptionist's desk in the center of the room. Striding towards this, Snape took from his robes the mysterious letter sent to him earlier. While holding it in his right hand, the man stopped in front of the desk as the mature witch seated there in her formal business robes calmly regarded him. Placing the letter upon the desk, Snape stated a bit tentatively, "I received this inviting me here for a job interview, but no specific time was given. Do I need to make an appointment?"

"Please wait just a moment, sir," courteously directed the receptionist even as she picked up her wand resting upon the desktop. Lightly tapping the magical stick once against the sheet of paper, the witch murmured something under her breath. Snape watched his note curl itself into a fist-sized fragile globe, which then abruptly shifted from a solid object into a glowing-green ball of light, to next smoothly rising upwards to head level before stopping there in mid-air. Looking back at the receptionist, Snape further heard her imperturbably inform him, as if she had no idea at all who he was, "Your interviewer is here, and he'll be expecting you now. Just follow the light to Conference Room Three, sir. Thank you for your business today with Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell. Will there be anything else?"

Feeling an actual twinge of gratitude for being cordially greeted for the first time in days, Snape mutely shook his head in thanks. Catching from the corner of his eye the illuminated ball drifting away to the side, the wizard turned away, and he started following after his radiant guide, leaving the woman's desk behind. With his back turned to the witch, Snape never saw how her face suddenly changed into astonished recognition, intermixed with mild curiosity over having the last remaining free Death Eater walking into her workplace today. Still, FGL occasionally had the oddest possible clients drop by, and as long as they or someone else was paying their legal fees, it didn't matter. A mountain troll lumbering in through the front doors to find a needed solicitor wouldn't cause the centuries-old law firm accepting the case to delicately ask anything but, "Where do we send the bill, sir?"

A minute's walk deeper into the building through corridors with thoroughly-polished oak paneled walls eventually brought Snape to a closed door, one of many along the hallway. The glowing sphere he'd been following now floated forward until it brushed against the surface of the door, causing it to swing ajar. At that point, the ball of light extinguished itself, not leaving behind even a curl of smoke. Continuing to advance, Snape entered the room, finding this to indeed be a small conference center with a single curtained window in the far wall. There was an antique wooden table in the center having several files and other documents scattered on top of this furniture. From one of the four chairs around the table, another man was rising to his feet.

Snape's quick study while approaching this stranger showed to the potions master that here was a wizard perhaps a generation older than himself, about fifty years old, he thought. Definitely a wizard, despite being dressed in a muggle suit which appeared to be both expensive and well-made to fit a body a few inches shorter than Snape and about a stone or two heavier. From a clean-shaven face with a balding grey hairline and developing jowls, keen blue eyes were doing their own study of Snape. When the pair finally stood together, the stranger extended his hand while also introducing himself: "Matthew Symington of the NAWPC's Montreal office. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Snape."

That polite greeting almost caused Snape to immediately start off their meeting on the wrong foot. He opened his mouth to haughtily correct the other's error by failing to refer to him as _Professor_ Snape, only to abruptly shut this, his lips angrily compressing into thin, bitter lines. This recently-sacked teacher instead resentfully acknowledged to himself he no longer possessed this treasured Hogwarts title. Rather, Snape dourly shook the other man's hand, who in turn allowed a glimmer of amused shrewdness to twinkle in his eyes.

Mr. Symington, after releasing his grip upon Snape's fingers, waved towards the chair across from him along the conference table. Taking his own seat, the Canadian wizard looked up to see Snape still standing there and suspiciously regarding the potions company's representative. Even if this caused their meeting to end at once, Snape had to know. He curtly demanded, "Sir, how exactly did you learn about my application for a new potions position in the first place? I'm quite sure I never sent any letters to your company about it!"

Giving Snape a remarkably bland look, Symington leaned back in his chair, and he responded, "Oh, I was meeting yesterday with one of Edinburgh's potion masters, and your letter was brought in by his secretary during this. I've known Colin Thane for years, but this was the first time I've ever heard him use that kind of language when he learned who was writing to him. Not to mention what he threatened to do if you actually showed up. I seriously doubt that you'd have liked spending the rest of your life as a little frog on top of a sunny lily pad floating in a pond."

The black-robed wizard's face paled in sheer outrage, and giving the now-chuckling older man his best fulminating glare, Snape spun around, about to storm out from yet another doomed interview. However, he'd only taken a few steps before a cheerful voice called from behind, "Don't you even want to find out why I asked you here today?"

Halting in his tracks, Snape managed to consider this through the haze of pure fury clouding his brain. After a few seconds, this wizard slowly turned back around, to see Symington calmly pointing with a stiff index finger at the still-empty chair at the table, accompanied by a firm order, "Sit _down,_ Mr. Snape."

At length responding to the sudden air of absolute authority presented by the older wizard, Snape reluctantly sidled to the indicated chair, to then manage putting an actual pout in his posture during a slow descent into this seat. Tucking in his robes with ostentatious flicks of his fingers, the sulking man glowered at where Symington was patiently waiting.

Clearing his throat, the foreigner started off with, "Let me give you a few minutes of background first. Now, as you might know, NAWPC's been content with our territory of Canada and the United States for most of its existence, but that's soon going to change. We've been discussing it for a decade, and in another six months to a year, we'll be formally moving into wizarding Europe."

Snape sat upright in his chair. This had been expected by most of the British potion makers, but the overseas representative's confirmation of one of their biggest competitors at last coming to vie for the magical humans' potions necessaries was startling news. His thoughts were interrupted by Symington's suddenly dry tone, "We'd have done it sooner, but considering what was going on here then, nobody at the home offices particularly wanted to transfer into a war zone."

A very sardonic gaze was directed by the Canadian towards Snape's own stiff expression, before Symington briskly went on. "However, that seems to be all over with now, so we're starting to build up our personnel here. I'm a senior manager in human resources, so I was sent with information about the current potion makers in this country. Imagine my surprise when I learned about the youngest British potions master in decades getting fired from Hogwarts and being at loose ends, just waiting to be snapped up. Speaking of that, I read your potions dissertation which landed you your degree. Interesting stuff, but I'd like to go over one or two points of it since you're here. Now, you started off with wolfsbane potion…"

For the next half hour, Snape was involved in a vigorous defense of his life's work, and he was actually enjoying it. Any possible indignation at being interrogated by a bloody colonial quickly evaporated by being asked numerous penetrating questions from someone with clearly a great deal of both practical and theoretical expertise at potions. When Snape had triumphantly described from memory alone how to make several of the most complex concoctions known to wizardkind, his sudden good mood over being in such a spirited discussion with a fellow profession abruptly vanished. All due to also realizing that this whole thing was totally pointless.

Symington thoughtfully considered how the previously excited younger man in his chair had now dejectedly slumped back, refusing to meet his eyes. The Canadian then gently asked, "Is there something wrong, Mr. Snape?"

In a tone of genuine defeat, Snape muttered, "I think I should be going. No matter how much I'd like to work for you-" (staring down at his feet, Snape missed the victorious look appear on his companion's face) "-it'll never happen, anyway. Don't you even _know_ who I am?" At this last cry from Snape's very heart, the wizard's head came up exposing an authentic expression of sheer misery rarely shown to the world.

His own features sternly purposeful, Symington waved a hand at the documents spread out upon the table, which hadn't been remarked upon before. "Those papers are the result of everything my company and FGL could discover covering the entire life of Severus Snape. Summed up, they presently show three things: One, you have a genius for potions."

Hearing this unexpected praise, Snape gaped at where the older man was ticking off on his fingers. "Two, most of the time, you prefer to act disagreeably towards anyone you meet and are then forced to remain in close association, making yourself thoroughly disliked."

Snape's face reddened, but he remained quiet rather than dispute something so truthful, however mentioned in such an unkind manner. Satisfied, Symington then spoke in his most solemn tone, staring Snape right in the eye, "Finally, you willingly joined and aided an evil man, who turned out to be a true monster."

There was utter stillness in the conference room, until Snape slowly lowered his head in absolute shame, to at last whisper a barely audible, "Yes."

"Fine, then," shrugged Symington. "When can you start?"

"_WHAT?_" Only when this furious bellow finished echoing off the walls of the room did Snape realize he'd leapt to his feet and was glaring at the other wizard forbiddingly staring back at the enraged Englishman.

Symington then said in a truly biting voice, "Mr. Snape, the most important thing for me is talent. I have to find people with a knack for creating and working with potions, and then convince them to join my business. To get that done, I'll put up with a lot from the people I hire. As long as they can do the job, however they act and behave in their personal life is none of my business. I'm not going to marry you, and I sure as hell won't be your friend. If you sign the employment papers, I'll be your boss, and the instant you unforgivably screw up, I'll fire your arse. You've already been through that; you really want to do it again?"

"No," choked out Snape, in somewhat of a daze over his sudden exposure to an entirely different male authority figure than what this wizard had ever known before in his whole life. Snape's hated father had either neglected or bullied his magical son. The most influential wizards this muggleborn encountered while growing up at Hogwarts and shortly thereafter had shared the same trait of being master manipulators. Even if Snape had for his own purposes freely chosen to follow at one time or the other both Voldemort and Dumbledore, there'd always been the faintest sense of still being controlled by them. Just because the puppet strings making Snape dance to another's tune might not have always been obvious, it didn't mean he failed to dimly resent this in the furthest corners of his mind.

Now, here was someone behaving towards him in a way Snape had always yearned for, in actual honesty. No confusion, no emotional tricks, but merely a practical truthfulness which he'd only found in his cherished potions. In there, when you did everything right, you obtained the exact results you wanted. The potions ingredients wouldn't talk back, sulk, or refuse to listen when you tried to convey a clumsy apology and instead go off to be with that bastard Marauder. Frankly, Snape had found the most explosive and dangerous mixtures which could be found bubbling ominously away in a cauldron to be far less treacherous than having to deal with the rest of the human race.

About this last… Snape found himself once more back in his seat in the conference room, without remembering sitting down. He blinked at Symington gravely observing him. Opening his mouth, a surprising burst of bitterness came from Snape, "Everyone thinks I'm still a Death Eater! What can you do about _that?_"

"Me?" snorted the Canadian. He cast a critical eye at the sour look upon Snape's features, before replying in an equally acid tone, "Nothing, but why should I? There's no way for me to ever know when others might think you've paid enough for this. Or more importantly, when _you_ think you've paid enough. I'll just have to trust you not to act like a Death Eater. About that, do you still want to?"

A stunned Snape could do nothing but gurgle, "Eh?" at the sudden change in his companion's attitude which resulted in this matter-of-fact final query. This bewildered reaction only provoked some more straightforward inquiries from Symington, all rapped out one after another:

"Are you feeling a sudden urge to dress up in a scary costume and lurk in the shadows? Plot against the authorities? Slaughter the innocent? Overthrow the wizarding world? Be Severus Snape, Death Eater, again?"

"NO!" roared the recipient of all those utterly serious questions, with Snape shuddering in his chair from the upwelling ocean of revulsion, disgust, and self-loathing he'd been carrying in his soul ever since Halloween.

There was silence in the room for several moments after this outburst. It was soon broken by a musing voice, "About a quarter century ago, a certain snotty wizard absolutely sure his shiny Mastery of Potions degree would lead to a golden future got his first job at NAWPC. A week into it, he was told he'd be teamed up with an older guy there. Well, the conceited jerk quickly found out two things. That he still had a lot to learn about potions, and also his new co-worker had been part of Grindelwald's SS brewmeisters. One of those who got snatched up by our side at the end of the war during the race between us and the Russian wizards to hunt them down. Gunther Frisch managed to survive the war itself, the commando kill squads after the surrender, a suspended death sentence, fifteen years in prison working on ultra-hazardous potions, and being considered the scum of the earth during it all. So, naturally he wasn't too fazed by his wet-nosed partner going off and whining to their employers about having to work with _him_."

Directing a very mocking grin towards a shocked Snape, Symington continued, "When I got sent back with a definite flea in my ear, I spend three solid months sulking about it, the next four slowly pulling my head out of my arse, and eight more years working with a man who became the godfather for my first daughter. It's all right if you don't believe me; I never thought myself I'd one day be among the pallbearers for someone awarded the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords of the Iron Cross."

Snape kept on gaping at his companion, even when this Canadian kindly said, "Son, Gunther once told me the simplest step had been the hardest, in admitting to himself that he just didn't want to do anymore what he was doing, and to know he had an actual choice to think this. It's up to you now how to work your way from there."

Pausing to peer at Snape's suddenly blank expression, Symington quietly nodded in satisfaction to himself. The older wizard then reached forward for one of the documents scattered along the conference table. Picking up a sheaf of paper, this was handed to Snape, who automatically took it, only to blink down in confusion at what he was now holding. The former Hogwarts teacher now heard from Symington, "Well, Mr. Snape, would you care to look over your contract with my company to see if it's satisfactory?"

* * *

A half-hour later, an observer from the top floor of the law firm's building watched below him a man dressed in black robes stride away down Diagon Alley. This departing wizard now possessed a much more hopeful gait than Severus Snape had shown earlier entering the edifice. Abruptly turning away from the window, this witness stalked towards the nearest chair, to then moodily hurl his body into the seat with sufficient force to send it skidding backwards a few inches on the floor carpet. When the chair finally came to a rest, Sirius Black in his Arthur Clayman persona peevishly snarled out loud to a room containing only himself, "He's still a greasy git!"


	21. Chapter 18

Let it be made absolutely clear: Sirius Black _loathed_ Severus Snape. He'd willingly declare this to the entire universe if necessary, and it didn't make the slightest bit of difference as to whether Padfoot had good reason for his intense dislike of the other man, or none at all. Dammit, in a lifetime, anybody was entitled to one or two unreasonable prejudices, and that greasy git was totally repulsive to a certain Grim!

Just like beets.

Slouching in the law firm's chair, Sirius felt an inner warm glow at a memory of his first escape from Azkaban, when a sopping wet dog had starvingly scavenged through the alleys of a seaside town. Back then, even though he'd been utterly crazed with hunger, a sniffing nose had turned itself up in complete disdain at coming across a half-full can of discarded beets in the bottom of a dumpster. Despite what his mother had maintained ever since her oldest son was a toddler, Sirius Black was bloody well not going to eat his beets. No, indeed, he'd much rather devour anything else remotely edible, just as he'd done elsewhere in the filthy dumpster. So there.

And exactly like that, he was certainly not ever going to allow his hatred of Snivellus to lessen, no matter what.

Damn straight. So, the sod in question had a horrible home life, no friends but one and then lost her, joined up with a psychotic wizard, got played like a violin by another wizard with a suspicious addiction for sweets, and then was summarily fired from the only employment he'd ever had? In response to all this, Sirius had a supremely succinct reaction: "Piss on him."

Merlin's teeth, for a good part of today, Sirius had been near enough to Snape for him to actually urinate onto that berk's feet if he'd felt like it. And he'd definitely considered it, in between the times when that arsehole trying to find another job had been closer to being murdered than Snape might had ever dreamed, much less suspected. Hidden by the house-elf magic Kreacher passed onto Sirius weeks ago, the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had been concealed from discovery by any spells known to wizardkind, or even physical detection by someone bumping into him. Which meant Sirius had spent a couple of hours following Snape around Diagon Alley, well within arm's reach of the other man's throat at all times.

He wouldn't have even needed his wand. Just grab and squeeze…

Of course, if he'd done this, there wouldn't have been those two hilarious occasions when he'd witnessed dear old Snivellus getting himself hexed by the potion shop proprietors for even daring to visit them, much less asking for a job there. Not to mention being treated like the worse kind of criminal throughout the other attempts. Dear me, such a shame, with that bugger feeling as if everybody was against him, no one willing to treat him decently, and it wasn't fair at all! It must've been absolute torture, a few hours of that while being free and in the fresh air, not like, oh…over a decade in a cesspit of a cell at Azkaban.

True, there was the unfortunate episode back in their younger days when they were attending Hogwarts. All right, all right, so he'd been an absolute pillock about it. Satisfied? It still would've been a major cause for celebration by the Marauders if that little prick had gotten hugged to death by the giant squid, or went sleepwalking on the moving staircases, or managed to kill himself in some other spectacular way at Hogwarts in which Sirius Black and his friends couldn't possibly be blamed for it. Hell, if Snape had indeed been changed into a werewolf back then, that sour bugger's personality probably wouldn't have altered the least during the next three days of the full moon. Maybe some more greasy hair at the most, but in spite of everything yet continuing to sneer with the same intense scorn and hostility at everybody in his vicinity, which forever rubbed Sirius the wrong way.

Still in his chair, the Black heir grumpily shrugged. The fact was, he really couldn't remember any specific reason or outcome of his first encounters with Snivellus which had in the end led to the cruel prank on the other student that nearly ended in tragedy for everyone. Not like what Harry had once told him about his godson's initial meetings with Draco Malfoy. Right from the beginning, this young bully had insulted Hagrid, declared Harry should at once join with him in contemptuously regarding the lower classes of the wizarding world, and otherwise behaved like an arrogant pureblood arse.

Sirius absently wiped away a proud tear in remembering how Harry had then recounted pleading with the Sorting Hat to send him to any other Hogwarts house, just so long as these didn't already contain the ghastly presence of Do-You-Know-Who-My-Father-Is Malfoy. The man currently disguised as an ordinary Ministry functionary afterwards wondered in private if that magical headgear had also sensed years ago his own burning desire to avoid being sorted into Slytherin House exactly like his whole family. This eleven year old boy instead desperately wanted to join his new best friend James Potter, who never showed to Sirius Black the usual wary suspicion by now all too familiar to the child from this reputedly dark Noble and Most Ancient House.

Well, however it'd happened, he became a Gryffindor, which had one stroke managed to both keep him in James' company and thoroughly annoyed his not so dearly beloved parents. Over the next couple of days, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew joined their little group, and the Marauders were born. Who then, often at Sirius' urging, had found a prime target for their unrestrained practical jokes in the form of a sallow-faced, cheaply-robed Slytherin student who kept hanging around the prettiest girl in Gryffindor Tower.

Unknowingly pulling his own sour expression, Sirius grouchily acknowledged to himself that one of the reasons for the steady increase in viciousness during the Marauders' mischief against Snape might have simply been an equal increase of male hormones in the bodies of Prongs and Padfoot. Or to put it more bluntly, trying to get rid of any possible competition while impressing Lily Evans enough to have this brilliant and beautiful witch decide to become more closely acquainted with such fine blokes as Mr. Potter and Mr. Black.

Look, they'd been teenagers around then, during which any other sensible person at the time would have found ample cause to categorize him and James as a couple of sex-crazed maniacs with all the prudence, good judgment, and capability for destruction of a horny pair of Hagrid's most dim-witted Blast-Ended Skrewts. There was _no_ way for it to end except in tears. At least nobody had died or actually got hurt. Except for maybe Lily's friendship with Snape after the next-to-last confrontation with the Marauders. Not that Sirius had paid too much attention to this then; he'd already started planning a really nasty prank, which had almost caused Moony in his werewolf form to attack Snape.

Sirius squirmed uncomfortably in the chair. That particular incident was among the greatest regrets of his life. As said before, not of what had nearly happened to Snape, but over how close it'd come to getting his friends in extremely serious trouble. To be precise, Remus Lupin himself. Soon after this, Sirius had been coldly informed by several people, among them Dumbledore, James, and much later Lily, that if Snape had actually been infected by a transformed Remus out of anyone's control, the young werewolf responsible for this would have been quickly sentenced to death. Snape, despite being an innocent victim of a magical disease, would still have faced all the unfair intolerance shown to the rare survivors by the wizarding world.

Only Sirius' absolute humble attitude had saved his friendship with Moony and the others. This same meekness shown to the Headmaster, along with a plea for any deserved punishment be given to him alone, probably saved Sirius from expulsion from Hogwarts. It ended with the whole scandal being hushed up, except for the Black heir making a public apology to a furious Snape, who rightly rejected it. The chastened Marauders were then ordered to cease and desist any further activities at the castle save for schoolwork. For the rest of their time at Hogwarts, Sirius and his friends totally avoided Snape, with this bitter young man acting the same way towards the Gryffindor quartet. Which at that point now included one more person, in the form of Lily Evans who'd somehow found herself falling for James Potter.

A very angry glint began to appear in Sirius' eyes. Fine, Snape then and forever afterwards had a perfect right to hate him, and James plus Remus and even Peter too, for all they'd done to this Slytherin. It was also reasonable enough for him and Snivellus to spend the next couple of decades goading each other in their mutual enmity. But Snape had unforgivably overstepped an explicit line, when that shite had attacked an innocent member of Padfoot's family.

Harry James Potter had in never any way harmed one Severus Snape. Yet, after spending a whole decade brooding about it, this teacher would from the very first day of a youngster's tentative steps into a potions classroom savagely rebuke, belittle, and sneer at the son of the man who'd taken Lily away from him. It would appear that this Hogwarts professor's talents included, besides a mastery of magical brewing, the unerring ability to pick and chose whatever he wished to believe.

Such as the fact, which Sirius himself could testify to, that Lily had _never_ shown nor felt any romantic feelings towards Snape. Oh, she'd been a childhood friend to a lonely boy demonstrating to a little girl that magic actually existed, and this juvenile friendship had lasted until their irrevocable break when Snape had thoughtlessly offended Lily by calling her an unpardonable slur.

Much later, in the only time he could recall of Lily ever talking about this during a dinner together the year after graduation, she'd told him and James that after a fumbling Snape had tried to apologize in private, the witch coldly rejected that young man's abject request for forgiveness. During the potions student's subsequent attempts to regain their previous youthful closeness, Lily had firmly turned him down every time, until the wizard apparently realized once and for all that their former relationship was over.

The only reason Sirius remembered this was due to what the married couple then told their dinner guest. How Lily was expecting, and they wanted him to be their first child's godfather.

Lost in his recollections, Sirius now became misty-eyed on how even throughout twelve years in Azkaban filled up with Dementors eager to suck away the happy memories of this grim prison's inmates, he'd always managed to keep that joyous remembrance to himself. Along with the occasion when he'd awkwardly changed baby Harry for the first time ever, and that little bastard during this had exuberantly let loose a powerful jet of stinky piss, which sprayed right into Sirius' face.

It'd even gotten in his _mouth,_ for Merlin's sake. Despite frantically spitting for the next minute or so, Sirius still managed to finish cleaning and re-diapering Harry before he could grab his wand and scourgify himself. All to the accompaniment of loud shrieks of gleeful laughter from a watching couple who'd moments earlier had collapsed together to the floor, while holding onto each other in shared mirth shaking their entire bodies.

Picking up a gurgling Harry, a coldly dignified Sirius had then informed the giggling pair of Potters on the floor that he was going to spend a few moments alone in the parlor with his godson. While solemnly telling this infant exactly what the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had done in the past to people who'd committed far lesser transgressions against members of this family known for zealously embracing centuries-long grudges. Well, he'd done just that, lying down on the sofa there and resting Harry on his chest during their entire discussion, with him earnestly speaking into an infant's unfocused stare. Which in turn had ended in one of his most treasured possessions, a wizarding photograph of both him and Harry fast asleep on the sofa, and Sirius' cuddling right arm protectively holding Harry safe in their mutual doze.

Frowning to himself as he vaguely became mindful of his present surroundings, Sirius wondered where the picture taken by James was now. Let's see, he hadn't left it at Godric's Hollow, and around then, his mother hadn't been speaking to him, so it certainly wasn't at 12 Grimmauld Place. Thinking back, he'd been living at…Black Manor! Right, that photograph was probably tucked away somewhere in the apartment there he'd been using then, so all he had to do was to spend a little while searching for it. He had plenty of time now that the whole Snape situation was over-

In his chair at the law firm, Sirius Black's face hardened. Yes, indeed, everything concerning the greasy git was finished. Done. Concluded. Hopefully, his revenge had now been fulfilled, and he could go through the rest of his life without ever again thinking about Snivellus. Still, before then, one more quick review:

He'd have been perfectly happy to send Snape to Azkaban for life, and the Black heir tried his honest best to accomplish this, which included passing himself off as a polyjuiced Ministry of Magic clerk. However, just like the first time in Sirius' past life, Dumbledore had stepped in and this prominent wizard used his immense clout to get Snape completely off for his crimes as a Death Eater. At least in this latest go-around, the Headmaster needed to spend far more political capital and make actual enemies of additional people in authority over this than had previously happened. Which could definitely come in handy in the future, so Sirius reluctantly let go of his private fantasy of an imprisoned potions master winding up in the very same cell which had been held ready for a lost-at-sea son of a nefarious wizarding family.

Of course, in his fury at learning how Snape had escaped justice, Sirius for a while contemplated some even darker fantasies. Fortunately, the sheer impossibility of directly storming Hogwarts and slaughtering Snape on the spot had caused Sirius' wrath to simmer down a trifle, enough to quickly begin another scheme which might actually succeed without revealing himself to the world at large. In the process, Sirius took a few moments to wonder just _why_ Dumbledore was so protective of Snape. He'd never figured it out the first time anyway, what with the twinkly-eyed Headmaster intoning some sort of rubbish about 'atonement' and 'redemption' whenever Sirius or any other member belonging to the Order of the Phoenix had ever raised the subject. Well, what did it matter? Even if there was a genuine reason (ranging from worthy to sordid), all Sirius wanted to do was to think of something to pry Snape out of Hogwarts without Dumbledore preventing this.

It was at that exact point when Sirius became fully conscious of his matchless advantage over the unknowing wizard in a Scottish castle. Agreed, Dumbledore was a supremely cunning manipulator, having decades of experience in the politics of the wizarding world, held tremendous influence as the head of numerous posts belonging to both foreign and domestic authorities, and personally possessed vast magical skills and power. Yet for all this, the Headmaster was only one man, with nobody he fully trusted with his secrets and plans.

Sirius Black had a _family._

Which in turn had earlier bluntly reminded this man just as they owed him loyalty, they deserved the same loyalty in return from him.

* * *

Some time ago, all those of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black working together to bring down an enemy of their clan had been gathered around a bare table in the most strongly warded room of their ancient manor. After much discussion, Sirius, Arcturus, Pollux, Lucretia, Cassiopeia, Narcissa, and Andromeda had finalized their separate tasks for the coming days.

Arcturus and Pollux were to arrange for the necessary outcome regarding with any luck a fired Severus Snape. Both of these older wizards has assured Sirius that the North American Wizarding Potions Corporation and the law firm of Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell would surely comply with such a minor request for assistance from the Black family to have this former Hogwarts teacher provided with a job. After all, their clan was one of the NAWPC's major stockholders. Moreover, centuries before, it was a Black who'd then provided the start-up funds to the three lawyers which allowed them to form their legal business. (Actually, this long-ago wizard had done it simply because in the past they'd already gotten him off the hook from one or two minor charges laid against him by the authorities. Little things like piracy, treason, blasphemy, and theft of royal property, among others. It just made sense to keep those clever blokes on retainer. Not to mention their mouths firmly shut.)

In any case, the two magical organizations would be discreetly approached by Arcturus and Pollux at such a high level that the orders passed down further would never be recognized by the lower ranks as coming from any other source than their own bosses. It'd be all part of the Old Wizard's Network, wholly restrained and circumspect, and most of all, _confidential._ In the future, a quiet favor might be done by the Blacks for a potions company and a law firm, with the utmost civility shown on all sides during this.

But this was possibly looking too far ahead. Currently, the whole reason for this was presently lurking in Hogwarts, a man still employed there as a teacher despite being a Death Eater, one of those masked terrorists who'd fully earned the hatred of the entire wizarding community. This absolutely could not be allowed to continue, which was where Narcissa and Andromeda came in. Visiting throughout their separate hierarchies in British magical society, these witches would begin a whispering campaign against Severus Snape, whom clearly needed to be removed from the school as quickly as possible. Just imagine what he might be up to with the children there! In drawing rooms, parlors, and salons, two sisters would confer with their fellow witches, carefully inciting a groundswell of protest from the other wives, mothers, aunts, and protective women, all of whom would eventually lay down the law to their spouses and any other influential male wizard within pained earshot: "Get rid of him, NOW!"

For example, during all this, Narcissa Black would be in all her glory during various tea parties and other formal social events. There, an icily-furious witch, known by the other fascinated ladies surrounding this perfectly-coiffured female as the former wife of a Death Eater who'd been tricked by her now-divorced husband into allowing another Death Eater to be her son's godfather, would thoroughly denouce Snape. Around a hushed table, the other shocked listeners there would then be thrilled at being told how Narcissa had ended every single magical and legal part of this wizarding sponsorship. There was no way she'd ever allow her darling Draco to be connected by any means possible to this appalling person! Hopefully, by the time her son took the Hogwarts Express to the castle for the first time a decade from now, there would be nothing left of Severus Snape at this school save for a quickly-fading detestable memory…

At that point, Narcissa would take a calming sip of her tea, while meaningful glances would be traded around the table by the rest of today's richly-robed participants. Naturally, the grimmest expressions there would be on the faces of those ladies with children already at Hogwarts.

While the other Blacks were busy at this, the last remaining members of their family would be occupied with what might be termed the finishing stroke. When Lucretia and Cassiopeia had just moments ago broached their proposal, the rest of the clan had been truly taken aback at this astonishing strategy. Still, even though it had a genuine potential for disaster, if the plan was successful, it'd almost certainly accomplish the removal of Snape from Hogwarts. The price for this might be much too high, though.

Sirius was particularly doubtful, trying to best express his misgivings without actually offending the aunts. "Are you both quite certain about this? I know you've been friends with her for years, but given what Lady Longbottom's been through now, especially because of-"

"Sirius, we've already invited her," serenely interrupted Lucretia Black. This mature woman then shared an enigmatic glance with the cousin at her side, silently communicating with each other through their decades of practice at this. This quickly ended, with these aunts now directing in tandem towards their clan leader an identical matronly glower. Which in turn made Sirius Black uncomfortably feel like he was six years old again, and had been caught dressing up the manor's house-elves in his spare robes to turn them into alibis for future mischief.

Seeing Sirius starting to fidget there, Cassiopeia Black allowed a wintry smile to crack her stern face. She announced to the entire table, "Augusta understands firsthand what the war cost - not her, but all of us - but she has to be certain. Our friendship since Hogwarts has lasted through other upsets, some almost the equal of this. None of us want it broken, so we've got to convince Augusta to join us in full cooperation against Snape, and also Dumbledore."

"Aunt Cassie," Sirius reluctantly questioned, "The Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom has the perfect right to kill Bellatrix on sight, and you're still going to bring Lady Augusta into my cousin's bedroom?"

The other aunt then sadly interjected, "She _has_ to know. Augusta told us she honestly would've let herself die of grief at never getting Frank and Alice back, if it wasn't for her grandson Neville. Now, she either learns if she needs to punish our niece, or if it'll be made clear to her that the Black who tortured her son and daughter-in-law is just as gone in her own coma as any of Bellatrix's victims." Her own face now absolutely somber, Lucretia added, "That's her price for taking time away from Neville to become a member of Hogwart's Board of Governors. Augusta won't do it otherwise, and we certainly can't force her. Nor can any of us take her place on the board. Given their recent bad experiences with Malfoy and his minions, no house with a dark reputation has a chance now to put one of their family in there. So, unless Sirius says otherwise, Augusta will come here, and make her decision."

All there turned to look towards the head of the table, where a very unhappy Sirius staring down at the tabletop was evidently mulling it over. Silence descended in the room, as the clan closely watched their leader face the possible consequences of his deeply-yearned vengeance. At last coming to his judgment, Sirius glanced up, to gravely regard the two older women waiting there. "Aunt Retty, Aunt Cassie, I just don't know Lady Augusta that well. But I trust _you,_ and if you think this needs to be done, I'll agree to it. Bellatrix shall be confronted by the mother of a family she destroyed. Whatever happens then, for good or ill, it is my command that nothing further comes of this. All scores are settled, and the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will live with the costs."

In unison, the others at the table slowly nodded in acceptance. Though, there was one more matter to be settled. Hearing a cleared throat, the Head of House turned his head to lock stares with Arcturus Black, who then asked in his most impassive tone, "Sirius, are you going to kill Severus Snape if and when you meet him again?"

At once deciding upon absolute honesty here, Sirius replied just as neutrally, "I might. It all depends on exactly how I feel then, but I'm probably not going to be in a very friendly mood."

"That is entirely your privilege as clan leader of the Blacks, Sirius," agreed Arcturus, his eyes fiercely glittering. He continued in a fell voice, "We will support you, whatever your decision and deeds, to the world's end. So mote it be!"

"So mote it be!" echoed from the lips of the other Blacks there, who for an instant had their faces around the table - young or old, male or female - shift into an identically ruthless family resemblance.

Drawing in a deeply satisfied breath, Sirius from his seated spot at the head of the table bowed slightly in the direction of his kinsfolk steadfastly declaring their total commitment to him. In return the rest of the Blacks also bowed much more deeply to their chieftain, and without another word, all these family members stood up and quietly left the room. Now alone, Sirius took a few more moments of solemn contemplation over the events of the last few minutes, and then he also got up and departed, to change into his Arthur Clayman persona and bribe an Auror.

* * *

Once more standing in front of the upper window of the law firm building, Sirius Black glowered down at a busy Diagon Alley, where he'd earlier watched someone he utterly hated walk away scot-free and in possession of a life's dream. It'd certainly been much more pleasant a few days earlier, when he'd been right here in the same place, only this time happily watching a dazed Remus Lupin wander away. This werewolf had been clutching in his hands the copy of the NAWPC contract he'd just signed providing him with a quite lucrative wizarding security job in Canada, with all associated moving and living expenses thrown in. After being assured that his necessary wolfsbane potion would also be provided free of charge in that much more tolerant country, Remus had immediately agreed to work for the potions company. Why not? With all his friends gone and the wizarding war with Voldemort over with, a fresh start in another place thousands of miles away seemed decidedly reasonable.

Sighing, Sirius continued to observe the various wizards and witches in the street below, all unknowingly under the steady scrutiny of a fugitive from Azkaban. His Arthur Clayman persona was still absolutely necessary, even inside the Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell building. Even though that legal firm was capable of detecting and guarding against normal magical disguises such as a polyjuiced intruder, Sirius' additional house-elf magic could thankfully overcome these protections. So, he was regarded here simply as a representative of the Black family. Which was quite true, when you thought about it.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until Sirius had actually stepped into the FGL building a few hours before when he realized with horror that he'd entirely overlooked a potential major flaw in his plans. Coming to a dead stop just after crossing the structure's powerful wards, Sirius had flinched in expectation of being immediately blasted with magical energy for possessing actively hostile intentions towards someone about to visit the law firm. When after a few seconds had passed and nothing had happened but for some puzzled looks being directed at him by people forced to walk around his frozen body, a bewildered Sirius was forced to come to a glum realization.

He didn't want to kill Severus Snape anymore.

Maybe it was the cautious entry several days ago into Bellatrix's bedroom after Lady Augusta Longbottom's visit there, to see his cousin's pale form continue resting upon her bed, breathing slowly but otherwise still helplessly in her severe coma. Confusedly glancing at where his aunts had escorted him in the room, Sirius saw identical sad yet grateful expressions on the faces of both Lucretia and Cassiopeia Black. It was the latter who gently told her nephew, "Sirius, Augusta spent a solid fifteen minutes sitting down by the bed, saying and doing nothing but watching Bellatrix. After that, she got up, and without looking back, our friend came over to us waiting there, hugged us both, and said, 'No more children get hurt. I'll do it.'"

And so, it'd wound up with an invisible Sirius following around Diagon Alley a fired Severus Snape, with the Black heir still wanting to murder his detested enemy. Yet, during all this, Sirius began to grasp a very simple fact: enough was bloody enough. It was a little confusing, what with all the time travel, but an appalled Sirius soon came to the horrifying conclusion that he'd now known Snivellus for close to three decades, from being firsties at Hogwarts to joining the Order of the Phoenix, and culminating in getting sent through the Veil. Mind you, there was the whole prison term in Azkaban when he'd managed to be away from that pillock for twelve years. Which, thinking about it, had to be the only good thing about this false imprisonment!

Yes, he still hated Severus, but to do something so permanent which would irrevocably link them together, such as actually ending his life?

_Sod_ that.

Inside the Flayed Unicorn, an unseen Sirius had made sure that the messenger owl from FGL bearing the offer of a job interview would know where to find Snape, and then the Black heir had numbly traveled to the law firm. Only to come to the understanding of what he'd finally decided when stepping into this building. In the same morose mood, Sirius had later on eavesdropped upon the meeting with the NAWPC representative and Snape.

The only spark of enjoyment the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had during the presentation of the contract for Snape's new job was when this former Hogwarts potions master had questioned one stipulation of this legal document. Sirius nastily observed to himself then that Snivellus didn't object to the large salary, thoroughly-stocked and remote potions laboratory elsewhere in wizarding England, and absolute anonymity required of him, but rather the requirement that he give up all contact with his former associates. A grumpy Sirius heard the Symington bloke explain to the complaining wizard that his superiors were absolutely firm about this. Nobody wanted any kind of Death Eater scandal, so Snape was forbidden under magical oath to get in touch with anyone from his past.

Sirius sardonically watched the calculating expression then flash over Snape's face, having no trouble at all over guessing what Snivellus had just thought. The black-robed wizard might be banned from communicating with others, but his oath applied only to himself. If anyone else desired to meet with him, such as a certain excessively-bearded Headmaster, they could easily do this. In the end, Snape had signed the contract, and it was then that Sirius left the conference room, to go upstairs into the other law building room reserved for the Black family representative. Where he'd watched Severus Snape leave the building, and disappear into the crowd of other wizards and witches in Diagon Alley.

After continuing to glare at where his lifelong enemy had with any luck totally vanished from Sirius' presence for all time, a very malicious smile soon instead began to appear upon the lips of this heir of the Blacks. Sirius' sudden change into a more wickedly amused mood was due to the abrupt comprehension that he'd indeed managed to achieve a true revenge upon Severus Snape.

Not in killing him, no. But, rather in doing something even far worse to that berk. Oh, yes. In the years to come, Snivellus would be busily working away on his potions, making all kinds of discoveries and adding to the knowledge of the wizarding world. In fact, making up for his criminal past by helping those who needed his magical concoctions. And during all this, Snape would become utterly, completely, absolutely…unimportant.

Not being with Dumbledore, not being in the thick of things at Hogwarts, not being in the second war against Voldemort, and finally not being anywhere around Sirius or those he cared for. Irrelevant, inconsequential, and most of all, _forgotten_ would be Severus Bloody Snape.

For the first time in months, Sirius Black roared with joyous laughter, glorying in his vengeance. It was only when his signet ring around his finger started to throb in a clear signal did Sirius stop laughing. Glancing in surprise at the ring signifying his position as Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Sirius had to spend a moment identifying what was happening. An instant later, a soft _pop!_ noise echoed throughout the law building's room, as Sirius vanished into thin air.

Another _pop! _indicated his appearance in the Black Manor's Main Hall, where an excited Kreacher was awaiting Sirius. Immediately going to one knee, the wizard gazed into the house-elf's wrinkled face before him, to hear this little mannikin gleefully babble, "They're leaving, master! Kreacher did what you told him to do, and then came back here to tell you!"

Straightening up on his feet, Sirius Black stared ahead into the distance, his heart almost bursting at the stunning news of which he'd waited for so long during all the minor incident with what's-his-name.

Looking down at a quivering Kreacher eagerly ready for further orders, the man who'd escaped twice from Azkaban now grandly declared, "Let's get Harry."


	22. Interlude Four

Petunia Dursley slumped back into her seat on the couch in the airport lounge, too exhausted to move a single muscle. Instead, she continued to stare blankly ahead at the far wall and out through the windows there, into the deep blackness lit up by the runway lights and the occasional plane rolling past on their way while arriving or departing from New York City's LaGuardia airport at well past midnight. The British woman remained in her tired stupor for the next several minutes, until her clouded thoughts faintly cleared enough to feel an abrupt flash of irritation at seeing how across from herself on the room's other couch, her young son and her husband were huddled together, both sound asleep.

*This is all Vernon's fault.*

* * *

Mind you, that hadn't been a startled Petunia's first reaction when just several days ago, this same man had unexpectedly burst into their home's living room in the middle of the day. This naturally took his family totally by surprise at seeing him there, when he should have been hard at work in his Grunnings office. However, an ecstatic Vernon gladly told Petunia this drills manufacturer had just promoted him to senior management! With an accompanying large increase in salary and a much bigger office at the company's Los Angeles division-

It was at this exact point when Petunia shrieked incredulously, "_WHERE?_"

For the next several minutes, a rather deflated Englishman sheepishly informed his stunned wife that the promotion was contingent upon Vernon's agreeing to be transferred overseas for the next several years. He could still turn it down, but it'd been made clear to him if this occurred, his future prospects with the tool company would be considerably poorer. At the very least, any further advancement up the executive ladder wasn't likely to happen for the rest of Vernon's career, given how he'd passed up such a wonderful opportunity to show his loyalty for the corporation.

Eyeing with some trepidation how Petunia had then dazedly collapsed onto the nearest chair, Vernon absently reached down to pat the top of Dudley's head. His little boy was disregarding the latest family crisis to instead happily wrap his chubby body around Daddy's ankles in celebration of seeing his father home so early. Straightening up, Vernon now spoke over Dudley's giggles, "Petunia, I know this is a tremendous shock, but can we please discuss it now?"

Giving her husband the most annoyed glare she could manage, a somewhat-recovered Petunia huffed, "What's the big hurry? Do we have to decide right away whether to give up our home, leave behind everybody we know, and move to America at the other side of the world?"

At hearing the last, Vernon cringed slightly. Lowering his head in a genuinely hangdog fashion to fixedly examine where Dudley lying on the floor was industriously unlacing his father's shoes, Vernon mumbled, "Ah, well…yes. I have to call the company and tell them our decision today before the end of work."

Not daring to look up at the sudden gasp from where his rendered speechless wife was sitting, the stout man hurriedly rushed through his next words, glumly knowing it was best to get it all over with at once, "And if we do agree, we've got to leave by this weekend."

"Vernon Dursley, that's utterly impossible!" retorted Petunia in a truly dangerous tone. "There's no way in the world-"

A loud howl from the floor interrupted Petunia in her beginning rant, as Dudley reacted in sudden fright at his mother's angry words. Instantly kneeling down, while producing his own laborious grunt at the impulsive exertion, Vernon picked up his crying son, and he bounced Dudley in his arms a few times, before hugging the boy against the front of his suit. Keeping him there while Dudley's sobs were reduced to faint sniffles, Vernon cast a pleading look at where a pale Petunia was holding her hand over her mouth in abrupt regret. Before his wife could say anything else, Vernon uttered the all-important words:"Dear, this could be our only chance to escape."

Hearing this, Petunia stared in complete bewilderment at the earnest face of her husband. She continued to watch while he then clumsily got back onto his feet in their loose shoes. Comfortingly patting Dudley's shivering body with a free hand while still holding him by the other cuddling arm, Vernon went on to persuasively entreat his listener, "Petunia, moving to another country as far away as possible might finally free us from our horrible situation. But if we do it, we've got to be as quick and careful as possible. Grunnings told me it's urgent for them to put someone new in their Los Angeles branch, and I was one of the several other employees worldwide offered the chance for this. However, they need a decision right away from whoever accepts first. In return, they'll take care of everything: fly us there to our new home with all the necessary passports and other documents provided by them, rent out or sell this house, and put our furniture in storage. They've done it lots of times before for their other executives, and I was assured there wouldn't be any problems. All we personally have to do is pack a few suitcases with the clothes and other effects we need, and then leave without telling anybody."

After he finished talking, Vernon optimistically glanced over at where his wife was sitting, with his heart lifting for the first time in weeks at seeing an actually hopeful expression upon Petunia's face. Her next words further encouraged Vernon, when this woman wistfully asked, "Do you think it'll really work?"

In his good mood, Vernon gave Dudley an enthusiastic squeeze, which made the hugged toddler chortle at this sudden outburst of affection. Significantly nodding his head in absolute determination towards the happy child in his arms, Vernon doggedly insisted, "It's bound to! We can be thousands of miles from here in a few days, without no one the wiser! You know we've been wracking our brains on how to get some help in dealing with those freaks, with no luck so far. We can't go to the authorities here, not without being laughed at or considered insane by talking about wizards and magic. As for the other robe-wearing sods, even if they aren't those bastards who seem to be murdering their own kind, if they find out we've been breaking the bloody secrecy law, we'll be in the shite right away, you can be sure of that!"

Vernon's normally ruddy complexion had grown even more redder the longer his angry tirade went on, culminating in the use of several obscenities. Petunia opened her own mouth to chide her husband for his rough language. However, someone else's voice spoke first, with Dudley gleefully whooping, "Shite!"

Both adults stared in appalled disbelief at where their son in his father's arms was looking proudly around the room, expecting the usual praise from Mummy and Daddy over the new word he'd just learned. Instead, the Dursley's shared a horrified glance, which then rapidly shifted into very rueful identical expressions about being gifted with yet another one of parenthood's little surprises.

Holding out her own arms in an unspoken expression, Petunia in her chair watched a chuckling Vernon stride towards herself, to then gently place a squirming Dudley into his mother's embrace. Twisting around on the woman's lap, Dudley joyously chanted several times at the top of his lungs, "Shite, shite, shite!" directly into Petunia's dour face. Sighing in sheer exasperation while lifting her eyes to the ceiling in another gesture of maternal frustration, Petunia now transferred her annoyance at where Vernon was presently guffawing in the middle of the room.

This man at once ended his loud mirth at his wife's quite frosty tone, "We'll be further discussing this later on at bedtime, dear. But first, I want you to know I've made up my mind." Drawing in a decisive breath, Petunia then spoke over Dudley's head directly to Vernon, "Take the promotion, darling, and we'll move to your new job. It certainly won't be easy at times, and I'm sure I'll have some regrets every now and then in the future. However, if we can get far away enough to leave our troubles behind, I'll jump at the chance. Just as long as our Dudders is safe, along with the rest of us." A cautious smile appeared upon Petunia Dursley's face, as she expressed this yearned-for hope from their present life of constant low-key terror.

Her husband's fleshy features split in his own wide grin, with Vernon Dursley striding forward to bend down and give his wife and son a glad hug. Straightening up again, the happy man headed off towards the phone in the room corner, about to call his workplace and tell them he was accepting their offer of a new position in another country. Where, with the slightest bit of luck, they'd be living an ocean and a continent away from any more of those freaks waving their filthy wands around and bothering decent folk-

"Vernon," Petunia interrupted this man's irascible musings, "Be sure to mention to Grunnings that _all_ of us are going with you."

Stopping dead in his tracks and turning around to stare in absolute confusion at his wife, who at this moment was looking remarkably stubborn about something, a baffled Vernon pointed out, "That's right, you, me, and Dudders, so why are you- _Oh._"

Petunia nodded, and without altering her determined mood, even in the face of Vernon's sudden expression of pure revulsion, she repeated herself with the same emphasis upon one specific word, "_All _of us."

There was complete silence in the living room then, with even Dudley keeping quiet in Mummy's lap, as this little boy blinked at where his parents were intently gazing at each other. His own pudgy face screwed up in childish worry at sensing the abrupt change in the room's atmosphere, Dudley looked back and forth at the adults, until his attention was attracted by a heavy sigh of exasperation coming from Daddy, along with an extremely sour voice of reluctant agreement, "Yes, dear."

Dudley watched with his mouth open while a grumpy-faced Daddy stomped towards the phone. He was then diverted by a strong hug from Mummy, along with her cheerful whisper into his ear, "We're going to California, Dudley! Can you say 'California' for Mummy?"

Turning his head to see Mummy smiling at him, which meant all was once more right with the whole world, the little boy frowned for a second, before tentatively attempting, "Cal - i - for - nia?"

"One word, Dudders! Like this - California!"

Giggling, Dudley Dursley then crowed, "California shite!"

It was at that moment in time when an invisible magical creature using his powers to unnoticeably observe everything in the little house at No. 4 Privet Drive then decided, with some amused regret, that he'd heard enough. Effortlessly passing through the blood wards set up by Albus Dumbledore several months earlier, Kreacher the house-elf apparated away from standing guard over a small form peacefully sleeping in an upstairs bedroom, ready to tell his master at Black Manor that their plan was coming along very nicely, indeed.


	23. Interlude Five

Almost a week later in the airport lounge, which was deserted save for her sleeping family, Petunia Dursley wearily remembered the frantic, exhausting rush of the last few days. Despite what Vernon had said about his employers helping out with their move from England, there'd been things only she or her husband could do: getting their updated medical files concerning everyone, for example. It'd caused Petunia to have to make numerous visits to all too many council offices, while having to drag along Dudley and-

Next to the tired woman on the couch, a small body timidly pressed up against her side, seeking some sort of comfort in the middle of his barely-awake doze. Without even thinking about this, Petunia lifted a fatigued arm and drew closer her nephew Harry into a gentle cuddle. Only when she felt a deep sigh against her ribs through her dress, which soon enough became a child's steady breathing indicating his total slumber, did Petunia bemusedly glance down at the top of the tousled head of the toddler there.

'Appreciation' wasn't the best description of how the Dursley mother ordinarily felt about her sister's son, but right now, Petunia was so worn out that her only thoughts at present about _him_ was a mild gratitude over how well Harry had behaved the last couple of days. This little boy had been utterly quiet and obedient throughout all the fuss and bother of their departure, which was aggravated by having to conceal from their neighbors the fact they were leaving; and not just on a day trip, but for years and possibly forever. Vernon and Petunia had together reluctantly agreed not to tell anyone else living at Privet Drive their plans, given the horrible possibility of those magical freaks out there learning of this before they left. Hopefully, people along the block would wonder only for a day or two where the Dursleys had disappeared to before going back to their normal lives. Petunia grudgingly acknowledged to herself that if she'd been informed of anyone else in their neighborhood doing this, it wouldn't have been long until she got to the bottom of it, no matter what.

Oh, well, the sole obstacle yesterday morning during driving away in their car (surreptitiously loaded with their luggage the night before) had been a frantic shushing of Dudley in the back seat about to announce to the entire neighborhood they were off to "California shite!" Harry, on the other hand, had without protest curled up on the opposite end of this seat, his little legs sticking straight out, and he'd then silently stared out the side window at the scenery passing by on their journey to London's Heathrow airport. There, the only reaction by the green-eyed toddler at the immense crowds of their destination had been to fiercely clutch with a tiny fist at a loose fold of Petunia's dress, while continuing his recent habit of sucking on his other thumb.

At least the necessity of bringing Harry along following in her every step meant she knew where he was. Dudley was much more rambunctious throughout their entire trip, starting with Vernon forced to chase him down several times throughout the airport, when his son had dashed off and crossly bringing back in his arms a boy vociferously protesting this. The ensuing plane ride had been more of the same, with a meek Harry dutifully remaining in his seat, except for an anxious tug at Petunia's dress during the several times he needed to go to the loo. His aunt couldn't help but to compare her nephew's exemplary behavior against that of her own child, what with a fractious Dudley coming back from being escorted by his exasperated father on their own treks to the plane's facilities and every time loudly informing all there within earshot about the strange blue liquid he'd had to tinkle into. As for their in-flight meal, Petunia mentally cringed at the remembrance of the very irritated looks coming from the nearby passengers at Dudley's immediate demand for something more familiar to eat, and the resulting tantrum promptly thrown when he'd been refused this. Harry, in contrast, had devoured it all without the slightest complaint, and then he'd peacefully gone to sleep. Unlike Dudley, who'd next had to be reprimanded for kicking the seat in front of him, running down the center passageway, and otherwise misbehaving.

By the time their progeny had at last condescended to settle down and start napping, the aircraft had almost reached their destination of the New York City airport where they were to change flights and take another hours-long plane trip to Los Angeles. Though neither expressed their thoughts to each other, both Vernon and Petunia were silently praying Dudley would stay fast asleep throughout everything. Well, at least _that_ had worked out; but unfortunately, nothing else went according to plan.

Numbly shuffling through the American customs and immigration entry zone of John F. Kennedy International Aiport with the deplaning others of their trans-Atlantic flight, the exhausted Dursley parents were well into zombiehood. Vernon and Petunia were separately carrying along in their arms two slumbering children. Awkwardly shifting his son, when their queue brought him to the front, Vernon tiredly dug out the family's traveling documents from his suit pockets. Shoving these papers across the counter in the arrivals depot, these were then accepted by the awaiting immigration clerk sitting there. For the first few moments, there seemed to be nothing amiss, given how quickly and expertly the bureaucrat flicked through the passports and other papers, until this man abruptly ceased his actions. His fingers stilling, the clerk slowly glanced up, to then bestow an extremely suspicious look towards an unconscious Dudley drooling upon his father's shoulder. After this long, considering stare, the man's eyes next swiveled to where a napping Harry was still being carried by Petunia, who was herself just beginning to realize there might be a problem.

Muttering a polite "Excuse me," the immigration agent left his seat behind the counter, and this bureaucrat went off to confer with another official located at a desk further back in the room now beginning to empty as the remaining passengers in the other lines were efficiently dealt with, leaving the bewildered Dursleys standing there. After a quick discussion, involving the original official showing to his superior the documents handed over by Vernon, a phone call was promptly made by the higher-ranking official. During this last action, another polite request was made by the returning immigration agent to the confused British family to please move aside for a few moments, so those behind the Dursleys could pass through. Struggling to understand what was happening, Vernon and Petunia automatically obeyed.

Squeezed up against the room's left wall, Petunia took advantage of their momentary privacy to lean forward and worriedly hiss her sudden qualms into Vernon's ear, "Is there something wrong with the passports for Dudley and Harry? You said Grunnings had no problems with what you gave them-"

An indignant Vernon muttered just as quietly in his interrupting response, "I turned in all our birth certificates and other material, including what that old, bearded freak handed to me during his visit ordering us to take care of the little bugger! Your nephew's papers didn't look any different from Dudders' own, so when I got our passports without any trouble on my last day at work back there, I assumed everything was fine!"

Before Petunia could press matters any further, she and her husband then heard a throat being cleared. Looking up, the couple saw a completely empty room save for themselves and a quartet of immigration and customs officials. These four men steadily regarding the alarmed pair included two newcomers, their original clerk, and his superior. The latter individual acting as the spokesperson for their side now informed Vernon, "Sir, your documentation isn't in proper order, so you'll have to stay here until the problem gets cleared up."

His face beginning to turn purple, Vernon blustered, "Look here, gentlemen, my company provided our papers, so you'll have to take it up with them! In the meantime, we need to catch our flight!"

The higher-ranking immigration agent firmly shook his head. "I'm really sorry, but you're not going anywhere for now. We can't let you into the country until we get to the bottom of this, and that won't be until daylight at the very least and maybe longer. It'll probably require other people coming into their offices here and in England in the morning to check your records. Your own employers might need to be contacted too, from what you said, so it'll definitely take a while."

"But what about our plane?" Petunia wailed.

Cocking a sympathetic eyebrow at the unhappy woman, the immigrations official still shrugged, "You won't be on it, I'm afraid. Your husband's company will probably arrange for another flight later on. In the meantime-"

Now flawlessly performing a superb imitation of a beached whale utterly sure this latest predicament is in no way his fault, Vernon huffed, "This is an outrage! I'm a British citizen-"

Dryly interrupting in return, the senior bureaucrat remarked, "This is American soil, fella, and you're on a business green card, which means you agreed to abide by our laws in order to work here. Right now, us guys have the absolute right to detain you for however long it takes, and if we're not satisfied, you and your family could get deported back to England. If you want to argue some more, take it up with my bosses, but I'm not gonna wake 'em at this hour of the night without a helluva good reason. Yelling at me isn't one of them. It only aggravates my ulcer, which just riles me more."

Sensing Vernon was about to truly explode and cause a scene which might end up with him in genuine trouble, Petunia hastily interjected, "Well, what else can we do now? Surely you don't intend to leave us and our children standing here all night?" At those last words, she nodded down at Harry in her arms still fast asleep despite everything of the last few minutes.

The frosty expression of the immigration official thawed out somewhat, even though he continued sending a look of strong dislike at where Vernon was glowering back. Turning to Petunia, the government man affably assured her, "Ma'am, we've got a short-term detainee lounge next door for exactly these kinds of situations. There's some books and games for you and the kids, a pair of couches with blankets on hand for naps, a bathroom with attached shower, and we'll bring you food from the airport cafeteria. Your luggage will be collected and delivered to you in maybe an hour, so you can change. In the morning, your…husband will be allowed to use a phone to call his office and tell them about your problems, to get things starting on fixing these. In the meantime, though, you can't leave at all."

Even with his final ominous announcement, the immigration agent's declaration instantly appealed to Petunia. Whatever difficulties there were with the family's papers could easily wait until morning for Vernon to sort out. Right now, the Englishwoman yearned solely for the chance to sit down in comfort and rest, rather than spending even more time inside a cramped metal flying tube which sickeningly vibrated and also drilled directly into her ears the whine from its jet engines.

A set expression flashed across Petunia's features, indicating she'd made up her mind, followed by a firm voice to all there. "We'll be glad to stay there, sir. Come along, Vernon."

"But, Petunia-," her husband started to whine in a betrayed bleat, only to be cut off at once by his wife's unyielding tone.

"_Vernon."_

The remaining immigration agents who'd been on hand in case of an actual disturbance now just stood there, stifled grins on their faces, while they watched the whipped fat guy slink after his spouse determinedly following their superior. At this point, the beached whale was being roughly towed off the sand and back to the ocean by his much-smaller cetacean consort, and from the looks of things, this heap of blubber wasn't enjoying the experience at all.

* * *

An hour or so later, too drained to feel the usual displeasure with her nephew curled up by herself, much less join him in sleep, Petunia simply stared blankly ahead over Harry's unmanageable hair resting in her lap. This state of affairs continued until from the doorway of the detainee lounge, someone then crisply inquired in the most upper-class English accent possible, "Mrs. Petunia Dursley? I'm Lord Sirius Black the Third, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and I'd truly like to know just why my godson was placed into your custody without my express permission. Equally disturbing, how is it you're spiriting Harry out of the British wizarding world in the middle of the night?"


	24. Chapter 19

Startled, Petunia Dursley turned her head to stare at the now-open doorway. There, a darkly-handsome, dapper young man with not a single hair out of place and elegantly wearing from London's Savile Row a magnificent midnight-black business suit (in which Petunia dazedly estimated had to cost, at a minimum, several thousand guineas) was at this point angrily eyeing the seated woman gaping back at this vision in gentlemen's fashion.

After a moment of absolute silence, the stranger stalked into the detainee lounge, bringing along with him two other people in the room from where they'd previously been concealed from sight in the corridor outside. Following directly behind, these other individuals were in order: another, decades-older man with a somber face and clad in a much less lavish suit (while still giving off a perfectly staid manner of professional competence) and currently carrying a thin leather briefcase in one hand. All in all, this person was somehow silently identifying himself as "lawyer!" during every plodding step. In the rear behind the aged male was the last of their number. Whom turned out to be a kindly-looking, mature woman with silvery hair perhaps a generation older than Petunia. Sending a keen glance at both the stunned other female and the little boy sleeping on the couch with her, this unknown lady accompanying the two men was decorously dressed in a dark brown, floor-length robe which flattered her full-figured body.

Coming to a simultaneous stop before a bewildered Petunia still clutching at a slumbering Harry, this odd trio had their debonair leader start to speak. Before he could actually say anything further, an abrupt honking noise diverted everyone's attention to where Vernon was stirring on the other couch. Obviously beginning to awaken due to sensing the newcomers' presence, this pudgy man smacked his lips, and his eyes started to flutter open.

With a flick of his wrist, the stylish man produced a short wooden stick from out of his sumptuous suit's right sleeve, and he then waved this small implement in Vernon's direction, all while muttering a short phrase under his breath that caused a beam of red light to shoot from the tip of the stick directly at the larger man's head. In response to this, the Dursley father let out a loud snore, and he slumped back into the couch, clearly fast asleep once more. A suddenly-terrified Petunia was too frozen in fear to do anything but to watch, when the stick pointed again, and the muffled words were repeated again with accompanying flashes of red light, towards a squirming Dudley who also became utterly unconscious, and then Harry. His aunt felt the toddler's tiny body become completely limp under her arm curled protectively around him.

Tucking the wand back into his sleeve, the wizard sternly regarded the trembling woman on the couch presently facing her worse nightmare. Again opening his mouth, this young man paused, as if he'd abruptly realized something. Glancing over his shoulder, the daunting visitor nodded briskly once at the gloomy-featured subordinate. Without a word, this commanded underling opened his briefcase and he reached into it with his free hand, incredibly putting his entire arm inside the small leather case. Apparently finding what he'd sought, the lawyer removed his arm and handed over something hidden from Petunia's view by the body of the other pairs' leader, who'd turned to collect this.

Bringing around his impeccably-clad upper torso, the dark stranger smoothly extended his own arm, holding in a steady hand a delicate white china saucer with a gold-rimmed edge. Resting atop the saucer was an identically designed dainty cup filled with a steaming brown liquid, which was now offered right in front of Petunia's surprised face. A heavenly scent came wafting from the cup.

The mysterious newcomer then cleared his throat, and he calmly inquired, "Tea?"

* * *

Sirius Black stirred his tea.

The soft clinking of the spoon against the inner sides of the cup was the only sound in the lounge, until the wizard removed his silver utensil from the warm drink. Placing the spoon upon the matching saucer, Sirius picked up his teacup and he sipped from it, seemingly keeping his complete attention on these actions. In fact, the Marauder was surreptitiously watching over his cup the numb woman across the small table they were sharing in the farthest corner of the room.

Petunia Dursley was dully gripping her own teacup in both hands, cradling the little container as if it was the most important thing in the word. From her haggard appearance and continuing air of fragility, she'd had far too many shocks in the last few minutes, which hadn't been helped any by the woman's total exhaustion due to an arduous trip from England. This fleeing journey had been made in the first place in an apparently futile attempt to escape from the frightful dangers of a magical world now horrifyingly represented by the forbidding man sitting at the other end of their table.

*Good,* decisively though Sirius, not letting his grim mien alter the slightest. *The more she stays off balance, the better.*

Judging that he had a few moments more to prepare, the British wizard glanced from out of the corner of his eye towards the rest of the room. The back of Vernon Dursley's sagging head showed over the rear part of a couch where he and his son lower down on the cushions were both still deeply dozing under the Stupefy spell.

Past the now-unoccupied second couch where Petunia had been sitting just a few minutes ago, Bernard Ackroyd, the lawyer from Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell was seated at the lounge's other table. More than far away enough to provide his client and Lord Black's companion with their privacy, this legal adviser was extracting from his magical briefcase several documents and tidily laying out these papers upon the tabletop. It clearly appeared that when the time hopefully came to present those documents, Mr. Ackroyd was determined he wouldn't be caught unprepared.

Out of nowhere, a sudden wave of mental anguish nearly overwhelmed Sirius, over who else wasn't now in the room. This distress was almost as bad as the earlier inner agony of a mere minute before, when Sirius had to impassively stand by and merely watch Olivia Davis of the New York Wizarding Children's Protective Services use the firm authority common to all medi-witches to get Petunia to let go of Harry. Once this had been accomplished, the medical specialist picked up the sleeping toddler and she carried him out of the lounge for a thorough physical examination in a neighboring room.

In a lifetime filled with unpleasant moments for the Black heir, this had been one of the worst in Sirius' entire existence. He'd continually plotted and schemed for the last couple of weeks, simply to get this close to his beloved godson, and then Padfoot had to restrain himself from personally snatching Harry away from Nurse Davis and running like hell.

But, he _couldn't._ Not when this would've defeated his whole purpose here, for which the Black family had discreetly brought up a controlling interest in Grunnings. After this, they'd arranged for one of the drill manufacturing company's English managers to be offered a transfer to America. A little more influence by the clan had then made sure the Dursleys were detained without any explanation when this dead-tired group wound up at JFK Airport in New York. Only to be taken completely unawares by the abrupt arrival of a sinister aristocratic wizarding guardian quite willing to become extremely nasty over the supposed kidnapping of his young ward.

* * *

When Sirius and his kin had commenced their strategy weeks ago, it'd been reluctantly accepted by all there that however complicated this method might turn out, it still had a far better chance of working than what would normally be the easiest approach.

Oh, the actual effort of removing Harry from the Dursley home would've been straightforward enough and accomplished in a snap of a wizened mannikin's skeletal fingers. Given in Sirius' past life a certain Dobby the house-elf had gone through without any problems the Blood Wards which Albus Dumbledore had set up to conceal a prophesied child from the Order of the Phoenix's enemies, another house-elf shouldn't have any trouble copying this. Which had turned out to be exactly the case, except it'd also presented Sirius with a heartbreaking temptation. Just one little command, and Kreacher would gladly steal master's godson away from those disgusting Muggles…

Steal. _That_ word had been the whole sticking point. Abducting Harry Potter was in no way any kind of good idea, despite how much Sirius privately longed for this. Simply put, just because Kreacher could come and go as he pleased through the Blood Wards on the house and inhabitants at Privet Drive, it didn't necessarily mean the little inhuman could indeed bring Harry along with him. The only way to test this would be to try it for real, and regardless of this action's success or failure, there was the distinct possibility of Dumbledore being alerted at once by his wizarding connection to the wards he'd created that there'd been a magical attempt to make off with Harry. It also meant that notwithstanding Sirius having been gifted with a share of Kreacher's powers several weeks ago, this wizard didn't dare to try it himself.

Unfortunately, there'd been a real dearth of information concerning the spell known as the Blood Wards among the ancestral Black archives. Save for a rare mention in passing among the centuries-old chronicles kept by their clan, the Blacks had otherwise never encountered this extremely obscure casting, much less ever used it on their own. During the unsuccessful search through their records, Sirius couldn't help but cynically think to himself this was perhaps due to his forebears by and large possessing a manifest lack of happy families among themselves while living together over the years. Loyalty, not love, had usually been the byword for the Blacks.

The only good thing to come out of the entire frustrating episode was Kreacher's reports on the Blood Wards. In his close study of the magical shields, the ancient house-elf had noted several disturbing issues about these protections and how they'd been set up. During their private discussions concerning this, a coldly-furious Sirius had a sudden brainwave, and Kreacher had then happily carried out his master's orders. When the proper time came, these petty actions would possibly have an effect far in excess of how much labor the sniggering house-elf had performed.

Yet, Harry still had to remain at the Dursley home for now, no matter how much his godfather hated this. Even if things changed for the worse, or some other unforeseen event occurred there (such as a house fire or an even more unlikely actual Death Eater attack, since neither had happened in Sirius' previous life), and it became absolutely necessary for a watchful Kreacher to at once leave with Harry, all while completely getting away with it in the absolute best case scenario, Padfoot's problems would just be starting.

Sooner or later, the secret of Sirius Black's survival would necessarily come out, and during the expected uproar, things would become even more frenzied if the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was also discovered to illegally have the Boy-Who-Lived in their safekeeping. Around then, an elderly bastard cloaking his manipulations of the wizarding world under the purpose of the 'greater good' would leap into action, directing both the Ministry and the entire British magical community into obliterating the Black family. Save for a little boy whom for the nonce would be perfectly safe under Albus Dumbledore's protection, with absolute secrecy required, naturally. "…so have a lemon drop, and you needn't concern yourself further about young Harry, who'll go back into the care of some people whom I can assure you, they'll treat him with love and kindness."

However, as much as Sirius considered this last to be the equivalent of enough dragon dung to pack full to the ceilings every single room in the entire Hogwarts castle, there was the delightful consequence of the _other_ You-Know-Who sowing the seeds of his own discomfiture by doing this in the first place. Due to putting Harry into the Dursley's custody after Halloween night (however fraudulently given what Padfoot knew about James and Lily's own wishes), Dumbledore had turned over to the other Muggle family the actual guardianship of the vanquisher of Voldemort. Not that this aged wand-wielder was the least bit concerned a terrified non-magical couple would ever learn of just how much power and influence in the wizarding world these people suddenly acquired when they'd been bullied into accepting their nephew, the sole heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter.

Nonetheless, given how Petunia Evans Dursley was directly related by blood to Lily Evans Potter and the child of this specific red-haired mother, even the most rabid pureblood wizard and witch would grudgingly admit under their own magical laws and customs, the unaware lady formerly living at 4 Privet Drive possessed all the rights and responsibilities for raising a wizarding child until this minor came into his magic and went off to Hogwarts in his eleventh year. At which time, the Headmaster of this famous school would then become Harry Potter's guardian, and a crack-brained, scheming arsehole's plans would really begin. Assuming, of course, that the other wizarding families didn't find out beforehand about their savior being brought up by a bunch of (ugh!) Muggles, and use every legal trick in the book (including some not so legal and possibly homicidal) to get Harry James Potter into their greedy clutches.

Only the Blacks were going to do it _first._

It was still extremely tricky. Yes, the Dursley aunt had the full authority to transfer her custody of Harry to anyone she desired, but this woman had to be legitimately persuaded to do so, without the slightest bit of magical coercion. The only good reason Sirius hadn't already hit her with an Imperius curse, or obliviated her into totally forgetting about his godson or doing a half-dozen other things his devious Marauder brain had already come up with, was ironically the sole motivation for Dumbledore earlier refraining from this, also. In the long run, anybody defending how they'd acquired guardianship of the Potter lad would likely be forced to produce an extremely annoyed Petunia Dursley, who'd then surely be magically examined for any undue influence upon her. Which if found, would instantly invalidate the current custodian's possession of their charge, and just as quickly cause Harry to fall into someone else's hands.

That would happen only over Sirius Black's dead body.

* * *

Every one of these considerations had led to his carefully-laid strategy of confronting a woman currently not at her best, while also producing in Petunia Dursley a sense of actual overawe, using all means possible, down to his very appearance and bearing. It'd been thoroughly planned to the absolute last detail. Sirius' cultured clothing and grooming was sure to subconsciously impress and reassure a lady whose last unhappy meeting with a wizard several months ago must've involved a man dressed up in disconcertingly unusual garments and possessing a lengthy beard which brushed the bottom of Dumbledore's multi-colored robes. Moreover, the Headmaster back then had undoubtedly treated the alarmed middle-class couple in his usual condescending style of 'let me be your wise grandfather,' with an additional dash of 'I'm the all-seeing, all-powerful wizard who knows what's best for you,' topped off with a grisly warning of 'death and destruction for your whole family if my orders aren't followed to the letter.'

Ever since he'd appeared in the detainee lounge, Sirius had shown off an entirely different demeanor, one which was certain to resound in Petunia's bourgeois soul. He was now and forever _The _Black, from centuries of aristocrats, here to claim his godson, and like all of this common woman's groveling ancestors, nothing less would be acceptable to him than her doing what she was bloody well told!

*Right,* thought Sirius to himself in bleak satisfaction, *Let's get on with it.* A truly baleful glower was then bestowed upon Petunia, who had the misfortune to look up and see this menacing expression aimed directly at herself.

Almost dropping her teacup in a sudden panic, Petunia shrank back in her chair. Upon a pale face, the frightened woman's mouth silently opened and closed, her terrified thoughts scattering in all directions until she stumbled upon a long-forgotten memory in her mind. Without meaning to, Petunia blurted out, "I know you! You were in the wedding photograph Lily sent me!"


	25. Chapter 20

Ah, so that's how it'd start.

Others known to the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would've had their own different perceptions of the coming clash. A certain wizard having as many titles as his beard was long would surely be most comfortable at viewing his participation in something like this as the beginning of a subtle battle of wits. Another faculty member at Hogwarts (of which the man sitting in the airport lounge had far fonder memories, given how Professor Flitwick always treated him decently, while sharing fascinating stories of being a professional duelist on the wizarding circuit) would've compared the current situation to the opening spells of a match of one wand against the other.

However, Sirius Black was a Marauder. This Azkaban escapee was going to pull off a supreme prank tonight. Which meant Padfoot now needed to maintain the capability of improvising on the spot, be ready for anything coming his way, and to flawlessly lie through his teeth with an absolutely straight face. Still, he'd already been doing that for years anyway, even well before Hogwarts, all unknowingly preparing for this very moment. A sense of calm confidence settled upon him, and Sirius then drawled in his snobbiest tone, "Quite right, madam. I was James' best man."

Before his listener could react to this, Sirius leaned forward a fraction, while also barely tilting his head to regard the woman across the table. Somehow, this presented to Petunia an aristocratic look of supreme disapproval culminating in the younger man looking down his nose at her, as he superciliously went on, "I don't seem to remember you and your rather…noticeable husband there, though."

A dull flush appeared upon Petunia's features, with this woman abruptly looking down at her teacup still gripped in her hands. Continuing to avoid Sirius' inquiring gaze, Harry's aunt mumbled, "Er, we weren't able to come. There was a, a problem with getting a sitter for Dudley!" These last words came out in an actual rush, with Petunia then lifting her head to defiantly stare back at Sirius.

Keeping his own face blank, Sirius shortly responded with a single word, "Quite."

That might've been taken to mean anything in his flat voice. Inwardly, the wizard smothered a flicker of rage at a long-ago memory of coming upon Lily before the wedding, who was crying at learning her sister had heatedly rejected an invitation to the ceremony, despite their parents' urging for the older sibling to attend. Nevertheless, this was no time to become furious over past slights to one of his dearest friends. After all, angry people made mistakes…which hopefully Petunia Dursley would now prove.

Putting a hand inside his suit front to pluck from an inner pocket several sheets of folded paper there, a solemn Sirius offered this document across the table to a startled Petunia. Confusedly accepting the papers, the woman then heard from her company, with this delivered most deliberately, "I believe you should read this, madam. Given the situation we've found ourselves in tonight, I'm beginning to suspect someone else might be answerable for the greater part of the blame. Please, look at it."

Unthinkingly obeying, Petunia unfolded the papers, and she began to study these with evident puzzlement. As she did so, Sirius was sending a mental snarl of vicious satisfaction towards an unaware wizard peacefully going around his affairs thousands of miles away at Hogwarts. All without Dumbledore ever knowing his shadowy foe was now about to gloatingly capitalize upon the Headmaster's serious error. But then, that senile bastard might've simply never realized the Potters had given Sirius Black a copy of their will during the magical ceremony which had made Harry into their close friend's godson.

It was entirely possible Dumbledore _had_ taken this into account during his schemes, though. That old wizard should never be underestimated. Yet, even if he'd foreseen there being another will out there in which James and Lily confirmed Sirius was to be their child's primary guardian, the Headmaster surely remained confident about the Confundus spell he'd laid upon the Potter's original will concealed in the Ministry of Magic during the uproar surrounding this couple's deaths. One clever effect of the spell to make people overlook this legal document did in fact exist also made all other copies of that record share this same forgetful result, wherever they might be. Including the will placed in Sirius' vault at Gringotts.

Except…there _was_ the minor point in that if someone took this magically altered will far away from where the spell had first affected it, the Confundus charm's power would end, and the will would revert back to its capacity of being read once more by anyone. True, the original will, as previously hidden away in the records department of the Ministry by Cassiopeia Black weeks earlier, would still be affected by the Confundus, but that was a problem for later. In the meantime, just before entering the airport lounge, Sirius had made a last-minute check of the papers tucked away in his suit, and he'd gleefully noted the entire width of the Atlantic Ocean now rendered the legal wishes of James and Lily Potter absolutely unambiguous-

Ah, that outraged gasp from Mrs. Dursley meant she'd finally gotten around to that exact section of the will. Glancing up in a livid mood, no doubt due to the truly blunt language she'd just read putting Harry James Potter in the care of his aunt only as a very last resort, Petunia forgot herself to shout at the young man seated opposite with a truly bland expression on his face, "How _dare_ she! If Lily were here, I'd give her a piece of my mind! Why'd she write this, choosing other people I've never heard of over me and Vernon in such an insulting manner?"

In his most condescending tone, Sirius pointed out to the simmering aunt, "It _is_ our custom for ourselves, those in the wizarding world. The Potters are one of the oldest families there, like mine, and we're used to keeping our kin among our own. Magic belongs with magic, not with muggles." With those last disdainful words, Sirius carefully watched how Petunia's face abruptly turned white with red splotches on her cheeks, and he wondered if that concluding disparagement would do the trick after all-

Indeed, Mount Petunia immediately erupted.

A woman at long last giving into the grudges she'd nursed for years now ranted, without care or concern of any possible cost to her, at an impassive listener. "Magic! That word makes me sick, and always did! Everyone was so delighted when Lily did her magic tricks, with mum and dad showering attention on her! Then, she went off to learn at a magical castle, and she came home with all those wonderful stories! _I_ was overlooked in all this, me, plain ordinary Petunia! This went on for _years!_ Not even when I sent a letter to that…that…Dumblydon man, begging to come there with Lily changed this! All I got back from him was an offhand letter saying since I didn't have any magic, it was impossible, and I should be content with this!"

Sirius just managed not to react at this last unexpected piece of news. He'd never known about it from Lily, so she must've either kept it a family secret or-

At that point, Petunia had taken a necessary deep breath, and then she let fly again. "Well, if nobody cared about me, _I_ wasn't going to care about them, either! And that definitely included sweet, perfect Lily, too! I totally ignored her when she spent her hols at home, and after enough rows, she and mum and dad learned to live with it! If I was going to be ordinary, it'd be _my_ ordinary life, and no one else's! I did it, too! I went to school, found a good man, married him, brought a house, had a lovely baby boy, and I did it all without magic! Not like Lily, you, and all those other freaks!"

Around the corner table in the detainee lounge, the room's atmosphere actually became frigid at this nasty slur. Throwing caution to the wind while looking full into Sirius' thunderous face, Petunia sneered, "So, you don't care for being called that? Well, too bad! Lily's wonderful wizarding world, with all its magic and castles and spells and dragons and charms, it managed to murder her! I'll still bloody well think of her killers, and all the rest of you wizards and witches who didn't stop them, as freaks!"

Panting in her sheer rage, Petunia once more started when she was able, all while ignoring the shamed fury in Sirius' gaze. "To top it off, the biggest freak of them all barged into my home, right after! He came in and started off by telling us Lily was dead and now we had to take care of her son, who lived when she didn't! Oh, he _said_ there'd be magic to protect us and keep us hidden, but it all happened so fast! Vernon and I didn't have a chance to ask things like, if Lily and her wizard husband could be magically murdered, how could _us_ with no magic ever be safe? Instead, _my_ family were put in danger, just to bring up Lily's brat, who's also got magic! So, tell me, exactly why should I have any reason to like or be impressed by magic at all?"

Quiet once more fell in the lounge, with Sirius and Petunia coldly watching each other. Vernon and Dudley were still fast asleep together on their couch, and Bernard Ackroyd, the lawyer from Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell was seated at the lounge's other table, discreetly ignoring all he'd heard from over there.

At last, Petunia lifted the crumpled will she'd crushed in her fingers, to angrily shake it at the scowling younger man across from her. "This says _you_ should've had custody of Harry, come to think of it! Why wasn't he turned over to you in the first place?"

In a tight voice showing he was barely keeping his temper under control, Sirius snapped, "I was looking for the man who betrayed James and Lily, showing the Death Eaters where they and Harry were hiding, which resulted in my friends' death! Dumbledore was supposed to take care of Harry and everything else during all that, so I left him to it in my search for the traitor." A very ugly expression flashed across Sirius' face at this, causing Petunia to flinch in fear, as he went on in an unemotional tone, "I know just where he'll turn up, and soon I'll lay my hands on him. He'll pay for once and all for what he did."

Petunia shuddered further at his dispassionate promise of ultimate vengeance, before observing Sirius' set face and hearing him speak again, "I went back to Dumbledore, and _then_ I found out he'd acted completely on his own, by sending Harry to you as his guardian, instead of the Longbottoms or anyone else mentioned in James' will!"

Caught up in Sirius' narration, a frowning Petunia asked, "Why'd he do that, then?"

Throwing up his hands in complete exasperation, Sirius irritably responded, "I haven't any idea! From the sound of it, Dumbledore told you more than I ever learned from him! He kept insisting Harry was safe and in good hands, but that was as far as it went. The Headmaster not only refused to tell me where my godson was, but worse of all, he actually forbade me to look for him or even talk about it with anyone else who might know where to find Harry! Apparently, I was to just walk away and forget about the whole damned thing!"

It was Sirius' turn now to become incandescent with rage over his own unpleasant memories. The Black heir fixed Petunia with a glittering eye, while growling, "That wasn't going to work with _me._ I told Dumbledore just where he could stick it, and left. I went around, trying to find Harry on my own, but with no luck. Until I checked my copy of James' will he gave me after the ceremony where he and Lily made me Harry's godfather and guardian, and read in there _your_ name."

"Oh," managed Petunia. She then risked, "So, that was how you found us here in America?"

Sirius grimaced, before admitting, "Not right away. Simply put, there was some kind of magic which made it almost impossible to locate Harry or you."

The aunt of this sought-after boy stared in disbelief at the other person across the table, to then blurt out, "You mean, the old wizard really did it? He set up some kind of spell to hide us?"

"I think so," shrugged Sirius, absently adding, "Not that I could hardly _ask_ Dumbledore about this, after our tremendous row. Luckily, my own family's got centuries of experience with our world's magic, so we worked on other spells to overcome what Dumbledore cast. In the end, after far too long and my patience running out, we finally found your house yesterday. Only, it was completely empty of the Dursley family _and_ Harry. I didn't take that news very well, I'm afraid, what with me threatening to skin alive an interfering old coot with a beard down to his ankles."

Petunia boggled at the wry expression upon Sirius' sardonic face, as she exclaimed, "What, you thought this Dumbledore had taken us away? No, no. Vernon got a job offer from Grunnings, his employers, to work in Los Angeles, so we leapt at the chance to move as far away as we could from all those fr- Wizards and witches," hastily corrected Petunia at Sirius' icy stare over what she'd nearly said.

"Hmph," grunted the obviously wealthy aristocrat, who then irascibly pointed out, "Well, I didn't know this. Instead, I used again the spell which found you, and got from it that your family was flying to America. There was just enough time to use my family's government connections to make sure you'd be held up at customs until I got here. Which brings up a delicate point for you, madam: exactly what happens now?"

Sirius watched Petunia turn a bit pale, and then this woman glanced sideways at where her husband and son still slumbered peacefully together on their couch. Continuing to watch her loved ones, Petunia's face developed a look of worried deliberation, as she obviously started to think hard. For the nonce, her table companion was ignored.

This was totally fine with Padfoot. Sirius took his own opportunity to inwardly review the events of the last few minutes, and he had to feel things had gone as well as they could've. The most dodgy likelihood thankfully never occurred, given how Petunia hadn't run away screaming with terror at being confronted up close and personal with Sirius Black, mass murderer and betrayer of James and Lily Potter.

It appeared once again the right way to bet on was having Albus Dumbledore forever keeping his bloody mouth shut, even when there wasn't any actual need to refrain from explaining things. While preparing for his upcoming discussion with the Dursley aunt, Sirius always had to consider the possibility that after turning Harry over to Lily's sister, the Headmaster had also warned her and Vernon about the Azkaban-sentenced traitor, just to further put them under his wrinkled thumb.

Well, much to Sirius' relief, this hadn't come to pass. It seemed things had remained the same as in another time and dimension, when a Harry Potter who'd now never exist had gleefully written to his godfather after coming back to Privet Drive at the end of his Hogwarts third year. On the run with Buckbeak then, Padfoot had laughed himself sick over the glorious news the Marauder style had obviously passed onto Harry from James. How else to explain that teenage boy blackmailing the Dursleys into good behavior with the threat of his murderous godfather showing up unannounced at their home, if this savage killer ever thought Harry needed him? Judging by his uncle's horrified reaction to that little bit of disquieting news, neither Vernon nor Petunia had ever been told about someone named Sirius Black, by the only wizarding person who could've done this, a certain lemon-drop addict.

All right, then, time to start things again…

At that point, Petunia was diverted from her frantic thoughts by a throat being politely cleared across the lounge table. Harry's aunt looked over at Lord Black's face bearing a somewhat bemused expression, followed by, "Mrs. Dursley, you mentioned something earlier in our conversation. What'd you mean, getting away from magic?"

Not sure just what she'd been asked, Petunia answered as plainly as she could, without actually being insulting all over again. "We - Vernon and I - agreed to move to his new job without telling anyone, so we'd leave behind everything in your weird world, including magic."

Now sending a frankly baffled look towards his wary audience, Sirius pointed out doubtfully, "Ah, didn't it ever occur to you there might be some problems with that? For one, it's not like magic stops right at Land's End in Cornwall. There's plenty of other witches and wizards _here,_ in America. Such as Mr. Ackroyd over there," (Sirius nodded in the direction of where this lawyer was still patiently sitting at his own table) "and Ms. Davis the medi-witch who went off with Harry, since they're both natives. Just like back home, there are lots of people living here in their own magical communities, but since this country's a lot bigger than England, there are much more of them living and working in this place. Including, I'm afraid, wherever you might reside at your new home. You wouldn't ordinarily notice them, since they have their own version of the Statute of Secrecy, except for my other point."

Staring at Sirius in her growing panic, Petunia next heard from him, "You brought Harry here along with your family. Sooner or later, he'd show off his magic-"

Petunia indignantly interrupted, "He's too young for this! It started for Lily when she was about eight or nine-"

This time, it was Sirius' turn to override Petunia. "Lily was the muggleborn child of a non-magical couple. For those children, that's about the normal age when they first experience their accidental magic. But in wizarding families like mine or James', we can do it as early as our first birthday, though that's rare. I didn't see it, but James later boasted to me that Harry demonstrated his magic by floating some baby toys above his crib when he was six months old, which is practically unheard of."

With real terror in her voice, Petunia blurted out, "Dumbledore never mentioned that!"

"He might not have known," allowed Sirius. Studying a shaken woman, the Black heir went on earnestly, "In any event, as I said, Harry would in due time be detected by the local wizarding authorities, who'd then contact you. There wouldn't be any choice, not when magic has to be kept secret from the muggles at large. Because you're still British citizens, the Americans would next notify the ICW - the International Confederation of Wizards - which is the worldwide organization for magical folk. Unfortunately, the current head of the ICW is one Albus Dumbledore."

Watching how Petunia's face went white at this news, Sirius grimly nodded, and he then moved in for the kill. "Furthermore, the British Wizengamot - our magical high court - is also overseen by him too, as Chief Warlock. Merlin only knows how he finds the time for everything."

Huddled in the lounge chair, Harry's aunt felt all her hopes come crashing down around her ears. She'd been so thankful at successfully escaping that horrible world which had estranged a young girl from her magical sister, and then finally killed Lily Evans.

Petunia listened in her increasing numbness to the aristocrat across the table continuing, "Once he finds out you've taken Harry to America, Dumbledore will move heaven and earth to get him back. He's got tremendous power, and I don't just mean magical. All his political influence will be used to return your family to England, and he won't even bother listening to your objections to this. It'll probably wind up with you, your husband, your son, and Harry all together again in that house at, where was it…?"

"Privet Drive," whispered an appalled Petunia through ashy lips. She stared with complete despair at the somber young man gazing back at herself, just before appealing to him in a genuine wail, "Can't _you_ do anything?"

Sadly shaking his head, Sirius informed the unhappy lady there, "The fact is, through Dumbledore's meddling, you're presently Harry's guardian in the magical world, despite being a muggle. It means where Harry goes now, you have to go with him. It'd be totally different, if it wasn't for my fault in not making sure James' will was carried out as he and Lily intended. In our society, wills are sacrosanct. Just for disregarding the Potter will, Dumbledore would be in serious trouble if the news of what he did ever came out, no matter his position or the reason for this. Combined with how prominent the Black family is, we could without question fight off any other attempts for that old berk to get his wizened fingers on Harry. But, that'd only work if Harry was in my sole custody as his godfather."

After those last words were spoken, Sirius Black and Petunia Dursley steadily regarded each other in total silence for some time. Their locked gazes lasted until one of the pair eventually glanced down, at…Sirius' hands set upon the tabletop?

Following Petunia's thoughtful stare at his fingers possessing solely the Black signet ring worn there, a mystified Sirius couldn't understand what was so interesting about this specific part of his body. At least, not until a woman's intent voice sharply asked him, "Are you married?"

"_What?_" yelped Sirius, who certainly hadn't expected that, as honestly shown by his next exclamation, "NO!"

"Why not?" demanded a merciless Petunia.

Padfoot's mouth dropped open at such an intrusion upon his personal privacy. This gape persisted, with Sirius barely restraining himself from coming out with the first things which came to mind. Which turned out to be wise, since Petunia certainly wouldn't have appreciated such comments as "Haven't finished tomcatting around yet" or "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

Still gazing slack-jawed in pure disbelief at the expectantly waiting lady, Sirius instead breathed from his very core something which he hand't intended or even realized, until this escaped: "I never found anyone like Lily."

Now, it was Petunia's turn to be taken utterly aback. Incredulously regarding the younger man there having his own expression of supreme surprise, the oldest Evans sister was unable to keep from requesting more, "You were in love with her?"

Lost in his memories of a beautiful, spirited redhead, Sirius slowly admitted, "Yes, just like James, and I would've tried to make her mine, if she hadn't become devoted only to him. But, they made me part of their family in the end, by trusting me with their child."

Petunia's eyes abruptly brimmed with tears at the heartfelt emotion she'd now heard from Lord Black. However, there was one more thing…

"Swear it again, what you just said. Swear it on your magic!" imperiously commanded the woman responsible for a little boy.

Inwardly reeling from this last unanticipated challenge, Sirius _had_ to ask, "How did-"

Petunia shortly explained, "I overheard Lily tell Mum about it, a few years before she graduated. How none of you would do that, except for the most important things ever."

"You're right, we don't. In their entire lifetime, a witch or wizard might never swear on their magic," acknowledged Sirius. Smiling faintly at Petunia, he reached for his wand tucked inside his right shirtsleeve. Pulling this out to hold it at head level, the aristocrat dressed in a very expensive Savile Row suit paused for several moments while he sought for the right words.

Taking a deep breath, Sirius then forcefully intoned, "I, Sirius Orion Black, do hereby swear by all that I am - my magic, my honor, my soul - to never again fail as I did before, in caring for, protecting, and cherishing Harry James Potter! _So mote it be!"_

With those final fervent words, a large globe of pure white light burst into existence in the lounge. Not merely around Sirius, but also enveloping Petunia in her chair. The blood relative of a toddler having the potential for immense wizarding power now felt for the first time in her life the actual touch of magic, and she gasped in sheer awe at this unequivocal vow passed along to her by a lonely man.

An instant later, the bright illumination faded from view, leaving Sirius still holding his wand. With a flick of his wrist, the wizard conjured up several sparks from the tip of this wooden stick, proving that magic itself had found him to be absolutely sincere in his pledge.

Looking across the table at where Petunia was quietly crying, Sirius now heard from her a soft whisper, "Like you said, magic belongs with magic. Bring the lawyer here; I'm sure he has some papers for me to sign."


	26. Chapter 21

"Why is her hair pink?" asked Petunia in a whispered aside a half hour later to Lord Black now seated next to her. At the same time, she cautiously wiggled her fingers in greeting at the small girl wildly waving in turn with tremendous enthusiasm to the muggle woman from the animated photograph lying on the airport lounge tabletop.

Chuckling, Sirius explained, "Nymphadora's a metamorphmagus. That's a very rare magical talent where someone gifted with it is able to change their body and physical appearance without a wand or potions. They can grow taller or shorter, look like an entirely different person, what have you. Right now, my little niece can't do anything but turn her hair in different colors, which tend to match her mood. Pink hair means she's happy to meet you."

"Oh. That's nice," faintly said Petunia. A rather uneasy smile remained on the woman's lips while she tentatively met the intent gazes of those other strange…people staring at her from out of the rest of the half-dozen pictures produced several moments ago from an aristocrat's wallet. Noticing this, Sirius courteously gathered up the pictures and he put them back into his wallet. During that, the older wizards and witches shown inside these magical items craned their heads to continue keenly observing Petunia as long as they could.

In _her_ picture, Nymphadora stuck out her tongue at Sirius.

Watching the young man at her side replacing his wallet taken earlier from his suit, Petunia frowned slightly. She mentioned what had just occurred to her, "From what you told me, those were your close relatives - grandfathers, aunts, cousins. Don't you have any pictures of your own family?"

This innocent question caused Sirius to immediately take on a remarkably bleak expression. Nevertheless, he answered civilly enough, "My father and brother both died a few years ago. As for my mother…well, let's say it wouldn't be wise to show her to you."

Feeling it'd be pressing things to actually inquire further, Petunia did allow herself a raised eyebrow, indicating she'd like to know more if this was possible without offending the person sharing her company.

Discerning this, Sirius acquiescently shrugged, before going into additional reluctant detail. "Your previous…reaction to magic was because of what you considered good reasons. Unfortunately, my mother has her own nasty opinions about muggle people. She's also perfectly willing to deliver these at full spiteful volume to anyone in range. To put it bluntly, she absolutely loathes muggles and all the rest of the non-magical world. According to her, only pureblood wizards and witches have any right to exist, and everybody else should have the proper manners to die off just now and leave our kind as masters of the world."

Petunia felt the corners of her mouth promptly turn down in utter disgust, intermixed with a hint of shame over once harboring thoughts akin to what she'd just heard. The Dursley aunt then listened to Lord Black admit, "After putting up with that load of rubbish ever since I learned to walk, it's no wonder I was more than willing to leave for good as soon as I could. My mother's still living at our London house, but we don't speak to each other. Don't worry; under no circumstances will I ever have Harry meet her."

"Good," decisively stated Petunia. She glanced over at the seated man dressed in his luxurious Savile Row suit fashionably cut in hues of deepest midnight. Reassured by his steadfast expression, Petunia tried again, "But the rest of your family-?"

Nodding firmly, Sirius broke in to repeat his guarantee. "They're all looking forward to seeing him. My grandfathers knew James and _his_ parents and grandparents. Same for my aunts and cousins, with Aunt Cassiopeia being Harry's direct great-aunt. She's met him several times at Potter family gatherings, though of course he won't remember her."

"I don't know if my mum and dad ever did before they passed away," confessed Petunia sadly. "Oh, probably, but they never mentioned it to me. I wish now I hadn't been so stupid!"

Tears of real chagrin brimmed in the regretful woman's eyes, and she hung her head in mortification. In this shamed posture, Petunia now felt a wave of ultimate exhaustion overwhelm her. Swaying in her chair, the head of Harry's aunt fell further, so that her chin brushed against her upper chest.

"Mrs. Dursley?" Hearing no answer to his anxious question, Sirius reached out to catch Petunia by her slumping shoulders.

Jerking up in her seat at this unexpected touch of another's hands, Petunia turned her head to wearily gaze through sagging eyelids at the man there. She sighed, "I'm so sorry. It's been such a very long day, and I can't stay awake a minute more!"

A truly sympathetic look appeared on Sirius' face, who then suggested, "Shall we go over to the couch with your husband? You can stay there while I collect Harry from Ms. Davis. Don't worry about falling asleep; I can use a spell to wake you up for a short while, long enough to explain to Harry what's going on."

Despite her full-blow fatigue, Petunia had to wince at the disagreeable prospect of this coming affair. It had all the likelihood of turning into a genuine disaster, what with a little boy who'd already experienced the most traumatizing event of his short life suddenly told he was being put into the care of yet another complete stranger. Even so, an air of resigned determination formed around Petunia, who tiredly dipped her head in silent acceptance. Staggering up onto her feet, the worn-out woman held onto the strong arm of the young aristocrat guiding her in the short journey to join a still-slumbering Vernon and Dudley on their couch.

Setting down with a gusty sigh of relief upon the cushions next to her husband, Petunia allowed her eyes to fully close. Without looking up at the man standing before the couch, she next mumbled to him, "Lord Black, it'd be a good idea to wake just me. I'll talk to Vernon afterwards about everything."

"Quite right," agreed Sirius, who then watched Petunia slump back against the upholstery while instantly falling asleep, without showing any signs of whether she'd actually heard him. Putting his fists on his hips (which, if he'd somehow been there, would've caused his muggle tailor in London to cringe at the severe rumpling of Sirius' splendid suit this action did to that clothier's masterpiece), the Black heir now pensively studied the slumbering woman, whom he'd been fully prepared to despise less than an hour ago.

In another lifetime, what Petunia Dursley, Vernon Dursley, and to a lesser extent, Dudley Dursley had all done to Harry Potter while that boy had been growing up in their home at Privet Drive was totally unforgivable. It'd been both physical and mental abuse inflicted for more than a decade against this child, who'd thought himself worthless and fit for nothing but to slave for his relatives. And when he'd finally learned the truth about magic and the wizarding world, Harry still had to suffer through the Hogwarts holidays in living with people who now considered him a dangerous freak who also brought deadly peril to them every second in his unwanted residence with his aunt, uncle, and cousin.

Ever since escaping from Azkaban and regaining most of his sanity, Sirius Black had been keeping a little list of those he was going to destroy. Voldemort was first on the list, of course, and then all of his Death Eaters, with a special spot reserved in Hell for Peter Pettigrew. Next came the ones who'd been responsible for sending an innocent man to prison for twelve stinking _years,_ consisting of most of the Ministry of Magic, followed by Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, both of whom shared a good part of the blame for this injustice. Lastly, all of the other bastards who didn't already fit in the above categories yet were guilty of harming those specific persons Sirius cared about, and were still going to pay for this.

Which _definitely_ included the Dursleys.

During the rare times Sirius managed to talk with Harry, either in person or by written means during the period between escaping from Hogwarts with Buckbeak the hippogriff up to falling through the Veil, this teenage wizard had been extremely reticent about his entire unhappy childhood spent with those muggle relatives. Sensing it wasn't prudent to purse the matter too forcefully, Sirius had backed off, only to try his luck elsewhere. Discreet questioning by a Marauder determined to find out the truth had been conducted among those people Sirius could get to without exposing his location and identity as a fugitive. This consisted of Harry's friends Hermione, Ron, the Weasley twins Fred and George, along with those older members of the Order of the Phoenix who were visiting their headquarters at 12 Grimmauld Place when the Black heir was forced to live there.

Though he'd never shown any signs of it, Sirius felt more than a bit of evil amusement over an unforeseen consequence of being stuck in his detested home due to Dumbledore's orders. This confinement meant he had the perfect excuse to corner any stray caller and eagerly ask them for any word about Harry. Naturally, this didn't include dear Snivellus or a Headmaster remarkably adroit at avoiding Sirius, but everyone else was fair game. In all the chatting an utterly bored Padfoot carried out with his guests, several nuggets of coveted information always came Sirius' way, and only years of pulling off pranks while appearing totally innocent during this kept the gaunt wizard from exploding with absolute rage at what he'd soon put together.

Offhand descriptions of Harry forced to work around the house and gardens at Privet Drive from an incredibly early age, an undersized and frail appearance compared to other children in the neighborhood, always clad in ill-fitting hand-me-downs, numerous episodes of bullying by his cousin and that obese lump's cronies, and so much more…

The Dursleys were progressing up Sirius' list at a truly astonishing pace.

Indeed, it wouldn't have turned out well for this muggle family at all, if Sirius had been able to arrive sooner at their house in his Grim form after his Azkaban escape, and personally witnessed just how the Dursleys treated their detested nephew. Around then, a starved but still massive dog with matted black fur had been skulking around the vicinity, desperately trying to find his Harry-pup. The long-remembered scent of James and Lily's son at last led Sirius to a house reeking with bleach, furniture polish, and window cleaner, just in time for a despairing animagus to catch a mere glimpse of Harry making a run for it due to losing his temper and magically inflating Aunt Marge into a life-sized balloon. After seeing the Knight Bus depart with his godson, the Black heir left behind Privet Drive without a second thought, traveling overland once more all the way to Scotland in his canine body.

Following his somewhat successful reunion with Harry at Hogwarts amid all the resulting upheavals - finding and losing Pettigrew, confronting Snape, flying off with Buckbeak - Sirius hadn't thought much about the Dursleys. Mind you, there'd been the very amusing letter from his pup about threatening them with a visit by his murderous guardian. When the Azkaban escapee finally returned to the wizarding world, only to wind up immured at his hated family home, Sirius had no chance to act upon his growing outrage over what Harry had evidently gone through at the hands of his relatives. Then, there'd been the frantic rush to the Department of Mysteries to save Harry, and a fall through the Veil. Which in the end, resulted in Sirius Black somehow going back in time.

Well, he was here now, fifteen years in the past, and with the Dursleys, too, all three of them. So what was he going to do about it?

Continuing to stand with his arms akimbo, Lord Black glowered at the sleeping muggles before him on their couch. He personally considered Vernon Dursley to be a total waste of space, and that man's chubby son definitely appeared to one day develop into an exact copy of his bumptious father. Petunia Dursley, on the other hand…

Relaxing into a less moody posture, Sirius straightened up, and he rubbed at his chin in faint perplexity. This wizard still held a modicum of resentment against that woman there for her lifelong rift with Lily Potter, which had forever made his Hogwarts friend truly sorrowful at being estranged from her sister. Not to mention this same older sibling's intense abhorrence regarding magic. Yet, however he tried to deny it, Petunia had some justification for acting as she'd done over the years up to now.

From bitter experience, Sirius knew just how families could fracture among themselves when one sibling was favored over the other, whether intended or not. His own younger brother Regulus had become their parents' preferred son after Sirius openly showed and acted upon his filial disdain, leading into the tragedies which then nearly wiped out this ancient wizarding line. As for magic itself, Sirius had to admit even for wizards and witches, living in a magical world wasn't always wonderful. Having the ability to use a wand didn't automatically bring happiness to you with a simple wave of a wooden stick. There was indeed a reason for the word 'curse' to mean a source of harm also in the muggle world, and Petunia had directly suffered from this, giving her good cause to hate magic.

Yet, what was infinitely more important was something else, which had never occurred at all, however things might turn out in the future. In all the short time Petunia Dursley had been the guardian of Harry James Potter under the secret observation of Kreacher the house-elf, this unaware woman had never been abusive to the toddler newly arrived at her home. Brusque, yes, and clearly resentful over having to care for another's child, but after using his magic to remain hidden from anyone's notice at Privet Drive, Kreacher reported to his master that this muggle mother had given what comfort she could to an upset little boy in her feeding, changing, and bathing of him. Furthermore, Sirius had seen with his own eyes, while standing in the doorway of the airport lounge just before announcing his presence, of how Petunia allowed Harry to cuddle up against her when this aunt and nephew had been seated together on their couch.

It was a great deal different from the sour-faced lady Sirius had barely registered at the suburban muggle house in another liftime a dozen or so years away. Staring ahead, the Black heir abruptly developed an enraged snarl on his features, during again considering the likely cause of Petunia Dursley's slow development from someone who was grudgingly prepared to accept her sister's son, into a spiteful woman willing to either overlook or contribute to the household abuse of this same Potter child.

Sirius' fingers twitched, as if they were yearning to grasp a double handful of whiskers and then viciously loop this beard into a deadly garrotte around the scrawny neck of a certain Headmaster. What in the name of Merlin had Dumbledore been thinking? It was bad enough if the elderly wizard had simply erred in his spell to create the blood wards around the Privet Drive house just after Halloween. That unfortunate blunder could've been credited to mere senility. More appalling was the prospect of this imperfect concealment spell having within it the actual intention to affect the muggle residents of this home, making them gradually regarding with contempt and loathing the sole magical person there. Regrettably, while Kreacher could detect the wrongness of the blood wards, the little house-elf had no idea if this was due to a faulty accident or deliberate, callous calculation.

A very sinister suspicion was forming in Sirius' mind, tending him in the direction of the latter outcome. True, it was entirely possible for Dumbledore to just make a mess of things and fail to recognize his mistakes. Except the schoolmaster's apparent blindness to it all was damned shifty, to the maximum possible extent. From what Sirius understood, at no point anytime before his godson received an invitational letter to Hogwarts had Dumbledore ever bothered to make _one_ single confirmed visit back to the Dursley home to see if Harry was getting on with his new family. Or to check on the blood wards, purely to find out how they were doing. Or even, however inconceivable it might seem, dropping in to have a nice cup of tea from Petunia and chat with Vernon over how Arsenal was doing this year.

Fine, Dumbledore was a busy man, running the entire magical government of Britain (including all too many other things) in between dueling Dark Lords and popping down the occasional lemon drop. There still remained the minor detail of the hope of the wizarding world, a young boy uniquely suited to defeat Voldemort, then traveling to Hogwarts and showing up there looking like an overworked house-elf with an even worse taste in clothing than the entire castle's workforce combined of these magical creatures. This should've concerned the Headmaster a trifle.

But, no. Despite what Harry Potter let slip about his joyous home life at Durzkaban, a twinkly-eyed bastard would unfailingly send him back there at the end of every term, with a hearty clap on the shoulder and the vague promise of, "You'll understand when you're older, Harry."

At that point, an infuriated Black heir became aware he was grinding his teeth fiercely enough to send scraping noises resounding throughout the airport lounge. In spite of this, the Dursleys seated together on the couch remained joined in their deep slumber in front of the wizard glaring at this trio of muggles, until his face relaxed. Right, he'd made up his mind. Back in the other time, Petunia and the rest of her Harry-hating family might've been under the magical influence of those same wonky blood wards for the last decade and a half. If other-past Sirius who'd escaped taking an unexpected trip through the Veil had found out this was indeed true, present-day Sirius at the New York airport halfheartedly supposed this would sway his counterpart's irate opinion a bit concerning those bloody Dursleys. Even to the point where fifteen-years-forward Sirius would modify his horrendous punishment of that unlovely family, to just transform them into floppy-eared, twitching-noses, cute-as-the-dickens furry bunnies and set them free in a nice pasture somewhere out in the country, with lots of juicy grass for them to nibble on.

Instead of magically turning every one of that vile group who'd tormented Padfoot's pup into a bunch of snails still retaining their human intelligence. And then tossing these shelled creatures into the back yard of the Privet Drive house. Just before another wave of Sirius' wand changed the ground there into a slab of salt a solid yard thick.

But…_these_ Dursleys, they were different. Fifteen years younger, to be precise. That wasn't just a flippant remark. All of them on the couch were currently innocent of whatever abuse they might've done in the future to Harry, and since Petunia, Vernon and Dudley were on their way to a new home in another country without this Potter child, there was no way these cruel acts would ever happen now. This last thought made Sirius turn away from the couch holding three sleeping people, and return to the corner table in the lounge which he'd been sharing with Petunia just a while ago. The Black heir now contemplated the stack of papers left out on the tabletop, and at this moment, he couldn't decide whether to feel triumphant or regretful over what these papers represented.

* * *

Bernard Ackroyd, the lawyer from Flint, Gannet, and Lochwell had done a fine job. From his bottomless suitcase, he'd produced every possible legal document for any contingency which might come up in either the wizarding and muggle worlds, and both Sirius Black and Petunia Dursley had signed these until their fingers cramped. Given how this splendidly-attired aristocrat also willingly made a tiny cut against a fingertip with a small silver knife provided by the lawyer and let several drops of his blood fall onto a particular set of documents, Petunia did the same, even though a pinched-shut mouth clearly signified her thorough disapproval of this specific magical experience. Fortunately, this had been the culmination of the transfer of Harry's guardianship from the Dursley aunt to Sirius, and after meticulously checking everything, Mr. Ackroyd politely took his leave of the pair remained seated at the lounge table.

Briefly ignoring his companion in the other chair, Sirius watched the legal representative head out of sight from the detainee lounge, with this door swinging shut behind an exceptionally professional lawyer. That man hadn't shown a flicker of curiosity about the entire night's events, much less ever displayed any knowledge about being seated next to a dead wizard and telling this vanished-at-sea murderer of a dozen muggles just where to initial. It looked like the New York City branch of FGL had indeed sent their best attorney, as promised to the Black family by the senior partners of the home office in Diagon Alley. In fact, these British wizards running a centuries-old legal firm had been a lot more shocked several weeks ago over being introduced in absolute secrecy at Black Manor to Sirius Orion Black, alive and well and not looking about to massacre anyone at the moment. On the contrary, he was eager to tell all (save for a few inconsequential particulars, like being from the future).

Still, things had remained quite delicate between the lawyers and the Black family, until a carefully-presented veritaserum interrogation and pensieve memories fully proved to the latest vistors at the ancient manor of Sirius' complete innocence regarding the charges laid against him by the Ministry of Magic. The total lack of any trial for this same wizard just before being sentenced to life in Azkaban also utterly infuriated FGL's senior partners. The youngest of these, a mere ninety-year-old witch, then sardonically pointed out an interesting wrinkle concerning Sirius' present existence in a legal limbo. Even though he was genuinely blameless in any criminal accusations up to his ferry journey to a hellish prison, these charges still hadn't been formally withdrawn even though Sirius was considered to be drowned along with the accompanying guards on this boat lost in a storm. So, once Lord Black showed his face in public, the Ministry might actually be stupid enough to arrest him _again._

There were also some disturbing legal aspects over what Sirius had done right after his disappearance from wizarding notice. Even if he'd just been about to have his face kicked in by an Azkaban guard, the prisoner's extremely violent reaction to this which resulted in everybody else on the ferryboat perishing could possibly be defined under the law as manslaughter, rather than in self-defense. But since nobody in authority knew what happened, there'd never been any official charges over this against Sirius in the first place. It all wound up with FGL cheerfully accepting the Black heir as their newest client, if only for the opportunity to work on such a fascinating case.

An additional reason contributed to this, though, once the specific facts of the matter had been brought to FGL's attention. The senior partners all developed identical dangerous expressions of suppressed wrath when the decidedly inappropriate actions of Albus Dumbledore regarding the guardianship of Harry Potter had been laid out in full detail. This also included Sirius producing his copy of James' will given to this wizard's best friend after the ceremony making him Harry's godfather. A quick international floo to Canada ensured that all the lawyers could see for themselves the effects of the Headmaster's Confundus charm upon the will. A further explanation of just where Harry was now, in the hands of a possibly unfit muggle, quickly brought FGL aboard in helping with the details of restoring that child into the custody of his proper guardian.

It was soon agreed by all there at Black Manor to maintain the greatest secrecy regarding everything, as long as necessary. The senior partners left in thoughtful silence, ready to get to work, and the Blacks went back to their plotting. Eventually, it was arranged by a wizarding family and a law firm to lure the Dursleys entirely out of the country. Once well away from any possibility of interference by Dumbledore and/or the Ministry of Magic, a muggle aunt would be persuaded to hand over a desperately-sought child. As had indeed been done by Sirius Black over the last hour, with the job finished by the most discreet attorney practicing in the local jurisdiction.

During the introductions of their first meeting, Bernard Ackroyd had been polite but taciturn, merely mentioning to the unfamiliar English aristocrat that he'd been told nothing but what was needful by his wizarding superiors at FGL's New York office. Anything else learned in due course of his handling of tonight's custody case would be part of their lawyer-client confidentiality, never to be mentioned again. After some wary reservation, Sirius accepted this provided lawyer, and he explained to the calm man his strategy of holding a one-on-one confrontation with the target, a certain Petunia Dursley. Ackroyd was to wait at a distance until it was all over. The composed attorney consented to Sirius' wishes, and he acted equally unflustered when Olivia Davis of the New York Wizarding Children's Protective Services joined them. The trio of magical humans had then headed for the airport lounge where an exhausted woman was about to receive a totally unexpected surprise.

Well, the lawyer had obeyed his orders, ignored everything he'd learned from the pair at the other table, and then he provided all the required documentation for the custodial transfer of one Harry James Potter (without even blinking at this name), guiding both Sirius and Petunia in crossing the t's and dotting the i's throughout. After it was all done, Sirius had watched with real appreciation while Mr. Ackroyd had left. Until, a moment later, there was a worried clearing of her throat by the neglected woman gazing at the pile of signed documents before her. Looking up from the copies she'd been given of the legal conveyancing of his godson to Lord Black, Petunia was clearly beginning to have second thoughts, as shown by the anxious question, "Er, are you planning to take care of Harry all on your own?"

Glancing over in mild surprise, Sirius hesitated for a moment, before reaching inside his suit front. Pulling out his wallet and opening it to remove several animated photographs there, the younger man firmly declared, "Oh, certainly not! Look, here's my family…"

* * *

And that brought Sirius back to the present, standing before the lounge table, with Petunia Dursley fast asleep among her family in their shared couch behind the man wearing an obscenely expensive muggle suit. Bringing up a hand, Sirius absently pressed his fingertips at a certain point on the cloth of his jacket, feeling in the pocket beneath there a crinkle of paper which indicated his own copies of Harry's transfer were still there, all magically shrunk and warded against any harm or loss. Turning around to stare at the back of a woman's head now leaning against her slumbering husband's shoulder, Sirius felt his heart beginning to burst in gratitude. His mind became instantly made up: the Dursleys, even that bugger Vernon and his little snot of a son, were free to go, and the best of British luck to them all. Hopefully, they'd live a more happier life in Los Angeles, with no trace of magic coming anywhere near them ever again.

However…there _was_ one niggling detail which couldn't help but persist inside Sirius' mind, and it had to do with family. Assuming the coming discussion with an awakened Petunia saying goodbye to Harry didn't deteriorate into a horrible scene, that might be the best time to bring up a tactful request. If all went well in the future, a several-years-older Harry would definitely want to know about his parents. And Petunia Evans Dursley was now the only person on earth who knew and could tell her far-off nephew exactly what Lily Evans had been like as a little girl. Surely, it wouldn't do any harm for them to write to each other about this…?

Mulling it over, Sirius glanced at his slim Patek Philippe wristwatch, and he eyed this ultra-expensive timepiece in sudden puzzlement. This was odd. Ms. Davis had earlier assured him that her medi-witch examination of Harry wouldn't take more than twenty minutes or so, and it was already well past double the promised time. Walking briskly away from the lounge table, Sirius passed without looking at the couch filled up with the dozing Dursleys, and he then left the room in seach of his godson.

Two minutes later, Petunia didn't even stir at the deafening bellow coming from another room close by, which roar of rage still managed to effortlessly penetrate several walls:

"_WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU WON'T LET HARRY GO WITH ME?_"


End file.
